iHEODOREi  ROBERTS 


HEMMING,   THE   ADVENTURER 


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THEODORE 


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L.  C.  PAGE   &   COMPANY 

New  England  Building,     Boston,     Mass. 


«'I    INTEND    RESIGNING    MY    COMMI 


(See  page 


Hemming,   The 
JP  Adventurer  4-  4.  jfl 


Theodore     Roberts 


Illustrated    by     A.     G.    Learned 


C  o  m  p  a  n  y    *    Publishers 


Copyright,  1904 
By  L.  C.  PAGE  &  COMPANY 

(INCORPORATED) 
All  rights  reserved 


Published  January,  1904 
Sixth  Impression,  April,  1908 


Colonial 

Elactrotyped  and  Printed  by  C.  H.  SImonds  &  Co. 
Boston,  Mass.,  U.  S.  A. 


21  SDtBication 


TO  ONE   WHO   BROUGHT 
THE  COLOUR   OF   REALITY   BACK 
TO  LIFE  AT  A  TIME  WHEN  LIFE  WAS  LIKE 
A  PICTURE,  AND  THE  FACES  OF  MY  FRIENDS  WERE 
LESS    REAL  THAN   THE   FACES  OF   MY  DREAMING.      TO   ONE 
WHOSE   SWEET   INTEREST   IN    MY   STORIES   MADE    IT  SEEM   WORTH 
WHILE   TO    RECALL    MY    AIMLESS    ADVENTURES.      TO   ONE    WHOSE 
GENTLE     MINISTRATIONS    TURNED    A    WEARY     SICKNESS     INTO     A 
HOLIDAY,  AND  WIPED   OUT  THE  MEMORY  OF   PAST  PAIN.      TO   ONE 
WHO   TAUGHT   ME  THAT  ROMANCE   LIES   NOT  ALL  IN  THE  MAKING 
OF    NEW    LANDFALLS  AND   THE   SIGHTING   OF    NEW   MOUN- 
TAIN -TOPS.      TO  HER  WHO  READS  THIS  PAGE  WITH 
UNDERSTANDING,     AND    A     QUICKENING    OF 
THE  PULSE,  THIS  STORY  OF  HEMMING 
THE  ADVENTURER   IS   LOV- 
INGLY  DEDICATED 
1903  T.  R. 


2229611 


CONTENTS 


PART  ONE 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

I.    CAPTAIN  HEMMING  FACES  A  CHANGE  OF  LIFE      13 
II.     HEMMING   MEETS  WITH   A   STRANGE   RECEP- 
TION        21 

III.  HEMMING    VISITS    THE     MANAGER    OF    THE 

SYNDICATE 32 

IV.  THE   ADVENT  OF   MR.   O'ROURKE  AND   His 

SERVANT 44 

V.    THE    ADVENTURERS     DISPENSE    WITH     MR. 

NUNEZ  ........       55 

VI.     HEMMING  HEARS  OF  THE  VILLAIN         .        .      63 
VII.    AN  ELDERLY  CHAMPION          .        .        .        .71 

VIII.     HEMMING   UNDERTAKES  A  DIGNIFIED  WORK      81 

IX.     O'ROURKE  TELLS  A  SAD  STORY    ...      92 

X.     LIEUTENANT  ELLIS  Is  CONCERNED         .        .     105 

XL     HEMMING  DRAWS  His  BACK  PAY  .        .        .114 

PART  TWO 

I.    THE  UNSUSPECTED  CITY         .        .        .        .123 
II.    THE  SPORTING  PRESIDENT      ....     134 

III.  THE  POST  OF  HONOUR.  —  THE  SECRETARY'S 

AFFAIR 139 

IV.  THE  THING  THAT  HAPPENED         .        .        .     147 
V.    CHANCE  IN  PERNAMBUCO        .        .        .        .155 

vii 


viii  Contents 

CHAPTER  PACK 

VI.      CUDDLEHEAD    DECIDES  ON   AN   ADVENTURE    .  1 66 

VII.     HEMMING    LEARNS    SOMETHING    ABOUT    His 

ARMY 170 

VIII.    CAPTAIN    SANTOSA    VISITS    His    SUPERIOR 

OFFICER 178 

IX.     MR.  CUDDLEHEAD  ARRIVES    ....  186 

X.    THE  FIRST  SHOT 195 

XI.    THE  COLONEL'S  ULTIMATUM  ....  205 

XII.      O'ROURKE   TO   THE   RESCUE       ....  215 

XIII.     THE  UNEXPECTED  SAILOR       ....  226 

XIV.    THE  ATTACK 233 

XV.    REST  IN  PERNAMBUCO 242 

PART  THREE 

I.    THE  REAL  GIRL      ......  247 

II.    A  NEW  RESTLESSNESS 258 

III.  A  ROLLING  STONE 264 

IV.  "THE  DEAR,  DEAR  WITCHERY  OF  SONG"    .  273 
V.     AN  UNCANNY  GUEST 279 

VI.     THE  BACHELOR  UNCLE  TO  THE  RESCUE        .  286 
VII.     HEMMING    RECEIVES    His    SAILING    ORDERS 

FROM  A  MASTER  NOT  TO  BE  DENIED        .  302 
VIII.     HEMMING  WOULD  PUT  His  DREAMS  TO  THE 

PROOF    . 308 

IX.    To  PART  No  MORE 318 

X.    A  NEW  COMMAND 325 


PART  ONE 


HEMMING, 
THE    ADVENTURER 


CHAPTER   I. 

CAPTAIN    HEMMING   FACES   A    CHANGE   OF   LIFE 

THE  colonel  sat  in  Captain  Hamming's  room. 
He  looked  about  at  the  snug  furnishings,  and  the 
photographs  above  the  chimney.  Even  the  row  of 
polished  spurs  on  their  rack  against  the  wall,  and 
the  line  of  well-shone  boots  and  shoes  at  the  head 
of  the  bed,  could  not  do  away  with  the  homelike 
air  of  the  room. 

"  Even  in  Dublin,  a  man  with  something  over 
his  pay  can  make  himself  comfortable,  in  seven 
months,"  mused  the  colonel.  Being  a  bachelor  him- 
self, he  liked  the  way  things  were  arranged.  For 
instance,  the  small  l>ook-shelf  above  the  bed,  with 
its  freight  of  well-thumbed  volumes,  tobacco-jar, 


14          Hemming,  the  Adventurer 

and  match-box,  appealed  to  him.  He  selected  a 
cigarette  from  an  open  box  at  his  elbow,  and,  light- 
ing it,  sighed  contentedly.  In  reaching  back  to 
deposit  the  burnt  match  on  an  ash-tray,  his  hand 
upset  a  stack  of  folded  papers  and  spilled  them  on 
the  floor. 

"  The  devil !  "  he  exclaimed,  and,  doubling  up, 
scooped  for  the  nearest. 

What's  this,  he  wondered,  as  a  yard  or  two 
of  narrow,  printed  matter  unrolled  from  his  hand. 
He  was  a  stranger  to  galley-proofs.  He  looked  at 
the  top  of  the  upper  strip,  and  saw,  in  heavy,  black 
type,  "  The  Colonel  and  the  Lady."  Then  he  settled 
back  in  the  chair,  crossed  his  thin,  tight-clad  legs, 
and  smoothed  the  proof.  Ten  minutes  later  Hem- 
ming's  orderly  entered  and  mended  the  fire ;  but  the 
colonel  did  not  look  up.  The  orderly  retired.  The 
clock  on  the  chimneypiece  ticked  away  the  seconds 
all  unheeded.  The  shadows  lengthened  at  the  win- 
dows, and  at  last  the  colonel  straightened  himself, 
and  replaced  the  papers.  He  smiled. 

"  Sly  old  Hemming,"  he  remarked,  and  laughed 
outright.  "  He  shouldn't  show  us  up  like  that," 
he  said,  "  but  it's  a  good  yarn.  Wonder  if  he  will 
lend  it  to  me  to  finish  to-night?  " 

Just  then  Captain  Hemming  entered. 

By  this  time  the  room  was  dusk  with  the  twi- 


Captain  Hemming  Faces  a  Change   15 

light  of  early  spring.  He  did  not  sight  the  colonel 
immediately,  and,  going  over  to  a  wardrobe,  hung 
up  his  cap  and  greatcoat.  He  was  in  "  undress  " 
uniform  —  his  blue  serge  tunic  somewhat  shabby, 
but  his  riding-breeches  and  high,  spurred  boots 
smart  and  new.  The  colonel  coughed. 

Though  the  captain's  greeting  was  prompt  and 
polite,  it  did  not  hide  his  surprise. 

"  I  dropped  in  to  speak  about  Tomilson  —  he 
seems  in  a  bad  way,"  the  other  explained.  Tomilson 
was  a  full  private  —  in  both  rank  and  condition. 

Hemming  advised  leniency  in  this  case.  He  had 
a  soft  heart  for  the  men,  in  spite  of  his  abrupt 
diction,  and  the  uncompromising  glare  of  his  single 
eye-glass.  When  the  commanding  officer  was  about 
to  take  his  departure,  the  captain  asked  him  to  wait 
a  minute.  His  manner  was  as  cool  as  ever. 

"  I  intend  resigning  my  commission,  sir.  I  de- 
cided on  the  course  some  days  ago,  and  meant  to 
speak  to  you  after  parade  to-morrow,"  he  said. 

"  Bless  me,"  exclaimed  the  colonel,  "  what  the 
devil  have  you  been  up  to?  " 

The  other  smiled,  —  a  somewhat  thin  smile,  — 
and  replied  that  he  had  not  disgraced  the  regiment, 
or  done  anything  low.  "  But  I'm  down  to  my 
pay  again,"  he  exclaimed,  "  and  I  can't  live  on 
that." 


1 6  Hemming,  the  Adventurer 

"  Why  not?  Have  you  ever  tried?  "  inquired  the 
colonel. 

Hemming  did  not  answer  the  question,  but  waited, 
with  his  hands  behind  his  back,  and  his  face  toward 
the  fast  darkening  windows. 

"  I'm  sorry  for  it,"  said  the  older  man,  at  last. 
"  You  are  a  good  officer,  —  forgive  my  saying  so, 
—  and  —  and  the  mess  swears  by  you.  I  hope  you 
have  suffered  no  serious  misfortune." 

The  captain  laughed  wanly. 

"  It  seems  rather  serious  to  me,"  he  replied.  "  I've 
come  to  the  end  of  my  little  pile." 

"  The  second,  I  believe,"  remarked  the  colonel. 

Hemming  nodded. 

"  It  beats  me,"  exclaimed  his  superior,  and  looked 
as  if  an  explanation  would  be  welcome. 

"  You  would  understand,  sir,  if  you  were  as 
big  a  fool  as  I  have  been.  Good  nature,  without 
common  business  sense  to  guide  it,  gets  away  with 
more  money  than  viciousness." 

He  stared  gravely  at  the  reclining  colonel.  "  At 
last  I  have  learned  my  lesson,"  he  concluded,  "  and 
it  is  this  —  put  not  your  trust  in  cads." 

The  colonel  laughed  uneasily,  and  quitted  the 
room  without  asking  for  the  loan  of  the  proof- 
sheets.  Hemming  sat  down  in  the  vacated  chair. 
His  face  now  wore  a  pleasanter  expression. 


Captain  Hemming  Faces  a  Change   17 

"  Thank  God,  I'm  not  afraid  of  work,"  he  said, 
"  but  may  the  devil  fly  away  with  that  cad 
Penthouse.  How  can  a  blood-relation  of  Molly's 
be  such  a  sneaking,  mealy-mouthed  little  cur  ?  Now, 
while  I  am  lying  here  winged,  thanks  to  my  childish 
generosity  and  his  beastliness,  he  is  skipping  around 
in  London,  on  two  months'  leave.  Herbert  Hem- 
ming is  done  with  the  ways  of  lambs  and  idiots." 
Jumping  to  his  feet,  he  went  to  the  door  and  shouted 
for  his  man.  A  few  minutes  later,  with  the  candles 
glowing  softly  on  sword  and  photograph,  spur  and 
book-back,  he  dressed  for  dinner. 

That  night  the  mess  found  him  more  talkative 
than  usual.  But  he  left  early,  for  his  own  quarters. 
The  groups  in  the  anteroom  thinned  gradually,  as 
the  men  went  about  their  various  concerns,  some 
to  their  rooms,  and  some  to  the  town,  and  one  across 
the  square  to  the  colonel's  quarters,  where  the  colo- 
nel's youngest  sister  awaited  him.  This  sister  was 
a  thorn  in  the  colonel's  flesh.  She  would  not  let 
him  smoke  his  pipe  in  the  drawing-room  (though 
he  was  sure  she  smoked  cigarettes  there),  and  he 
heartily  hoped  his  junior  major  would  marry  her. 
The  junior  major  hoped  so  too,  and,  with  this  hope 
in  his  breast;  took  his  departure,  leaving  Spalding, 
a  subaltern,  and  Major  O'Grady  alone  by  the  piano. 

O'Grady  balanced  his  smouldering  cigarette  on 


1 8  Hemming,  the  Adventurer 

the  edge  of  the  music-stand,  and  strummed  a  few 
erratic  bars. 

"  The  other  chaps  must  have  suspected  some- 
thing," said  Spalding.  "  I  wondered  why  they  all 
cleared  out." 

"  What  are  ye  doing  here,  ye  impudent  young 
divil?  Should  think  ye'd  skeedaddle  down-town, 
now  that  Penthouse  is  in  London,  and  ye've  got  a 
chance  with  the  lady,"  cried  the  stout  Irish  major. 
The  subaltern's  boyish  face  took  on  an  ugly  ex- 
pression. 

"Penthouse  —  that  bounder,"  he  sneered. 

"  I  must  admit  that  his  manners  are  a  trifle  airy," 
returned  O'Grady,  "  but  the  same  can  be  truly  said 
of  most  subs  of  this  glorious  age." 

"  I'm  not  objecting  to  his  manners,  major,  and 
I'm  not  defending  my  own,"  said  Spalding.  "  I'm 
simply  naming  him  a  bounder." 

O'Grady  took  up  his  cigarette,  and  turned  his 
back  on  the  keyboard. 

"  What  are  ye  kicking  about  ?  "  he  inquired. 

"  Well,"  replied  Spalding,  anxiously  examining 
the  ceiling,  "  I  happen  to  know  things  about  him." 

"  Ye're  a  gossip,  me  boy,  that's  what  ye  are,"  cried 
the  major,  "  and  of  all  contemptible  things,  the 
worst  is  a  male  gossip.  What  do  ye  happen  to  know 
about  him,  me  boy?  " 


Captain  Hemming  Faces  a  Change   19 

A  faint  smile  played  across  the  lieutenant's  up- 
turned face;  but  the  impatient  major  did  not  notice 
it. 

"  To  begin  with,  he's  some  sort  of  cousin  to  a 
Miss  Travers,  an  English  girl  whom  Hemming  is  in 
love  with,"  said  Spalding. 

"  Then  you  object  to  him  on  purely  social 
grounds,"  interrupted  the  Irishman. 

"  Oh,  shut  up,  and  let  me  tell  my  tale.  Social 
grounds  be  shot  —  Miss  Travers  is  daughter  of  a 
lord  bish-hop.  Penthouse  is  son  of  a  baronet.  What 
I'm  getting  at  is  that  good  old  Hemming,  just  be- 
cause this  chap  is  related  to  his  girl,  has  looked 
after  him  like  a  dry-nurse  for  more  than  a  year. 
That  is  right  enough.  But  —  and  this  is  not  known 
by  any  one  but  me  —  Hemming  backed  a  lot  of 
his  paper,  and  for  the  last  two  months  he  has  been 
paying  the  piper.  Once  upon  a  time,  in  the  memory 
of  man,  Hemming  had  some  money,  but  I'll  eat 
my  helmet  if  he  has  any  now." 

"  How  d'ye  know  all  this  ?  "  asked  O'Grady,  let- 
ting his  fat  cigarette  smoulder  its  life  away  un- 
heeded. Spalding  touched  his  eyes  lightly  with  his 
finger-tips. 

"  Saw,"  he  said. 

The  major  gave  vent  to  his  feelings  in  muttered 


2O  Hemming,  the  Adventurer 

oaths,  all  the  while  keeping  an  observant  eye  upon 
his  companion. 

"  I'll  wager  now  that  Hemming  has  some  good 
old  Irish  blood  in  him,"  he  remarked. 

"  Why  do  you  think  that  ?  "  asked  Spalding,  de- 
liberately yawning. 

"  His  generosity  leads  me  to  think  so.  There  are 
other  officers  of  infantry  regiments  who'd  be  better 
off  to-day,  but  for  their  kind  hearts  and  Irish  blood." 
The  major  sighed  windily  as  he  made  this  statement. 

"  Methinks  you  mean  Irish  whiskey,"  retorted 
Spalding.  With  dignity  O'Grady  arose  from  the 
piano-stool. 

"  I'll  not  listen  to  any  more  of  your  low  gossip," 
he  said,  and  started  for  the  door,  in  a  hurry  to 
carry  the  news  to  any  one  he  might  find  at  home. 

"  You  needn't  mention  my  name,  sir,"  called 
Spalding,  over  his  shoulder.  His  superior  officer 
left  the  room  without  deigning  a  reply. 


CHAPTER   II. 

HEMMING    MEETS    WITH    A    STRANGE    RECEPTION 

HERBERT  HEMMING  sat  alone  in  his  room,  while 
his  brother  officers  sought  their  pleasure  in  divers 
companies.  His  writing-table  was  drawn  close  to 
the  fire.  His  scarlet  mess-jacket  made  a  vivid  spot 
of  colour,  in  the  softly  illuminated  room.  He  was 
busily  occupied  with  the  proofs  of  "  The  Colonel 
and  the  Lady,"  when  his  man  rapped  at  the  door 
and  entered. 

"  Nothing  more,"  said  the  captain,  without  look- 
ing up.  The  soldier  saluted,  but  did  not  go.  Pres- 
ently his  master's  attention  was  awakened  by  the 
uneasy  creaking  of  his  boots. 

"  Well,  what  do  you  want  ?  " 

"  Me  mother  is  very  ill,  sir." 

"  I'm  not  a  doctor,  Malloy." 

"  I  wasn't  thinkin'  of  insultin'  you,  sir." 

Hemming  sighed,  and  laid  down  his  pen. 

"  I  have  found  you  a  satisfactory  servant,"  he 
said,  "  also  a  frightful  liar." 

21 


22  Hemming,  the  Adventurer 

"  I  must  confess  to  you,  sir,"  replied  the  man, 
"  that  I  was  lyin'  last  month  about  me  father,  — 
he's  been  dead  as  St.  Pathrick  this  seven  year,  — 
but  to-night  I'm  tellin'  you  the  truth,  sir,  so  help 
me  —  " 

"  Never  mind  that,"  interrupted  Hemming. 

Malloy  was  silent. 

"  So  your  mother  is  very  ill  ?  "  continued  the 
captain. 

"  Yes,  sir,  —  locomotive  attacks,  sir." 

"  And  poor,  I  take  it  ?  " 

"  Yes,  sir,  —  four  bob  a  week." 

Hemming  felt  in  his  pockets  and  drew  out  a 
sovereign. 

"  Sorry  it's  so  little,"  he  said,  "  but  if  you  give 
me  her  address  to-morrow  I'll  call  and  see  her." 

"  God  bless  you,  sir,"  said  the  man.  He  took 
the  money,  and  hesitated  beside  the  table. 

Hemming  glanced  at  him  inquiringly. 

"  Beggin'  your  pardon,  sir,  it  beats  me  how  you 
knows  when  I'm  lyin'  and  when  I'm  tellin'  the 
truth,"  exclaimed  the  orderly. 

"  I'm  learning  things  by  experience.  Good  night, 
Malloy." 

Alone  again,  Hemming  made  short  work  of  his 
proofs.  After  sealing  them  into  a  yellow  envelope, 
and  inscribing  thereon  the  address  of  a  big  New 


A  Strange  Reception  23 

York  weekly  (whose  editor  had  proved  partial  to 
his  sketches  and  stories  of  "  doings  "  in  the  Imperial 
Army),  he  produced  some  of  the  regimental  sta- 
tionery and  began  a  letter  to  Miss  Travers.  It  was 
no  easy  undertaking  —  the  writing  of  this  partic- 
ular letter.  After  struggling  for  some  minutes  with 
the  first  sentence,  he  leaned  back  in  his  chair  and  fell 
into  retrospection.  His  age  was  now  twenty-nine 
years.  He  had  done  with  Sandhurst  at  twenty-one, 
and  had  been  in  the  army  ever  since;  had  seen 
more  than  his  share  of  foreign  service,  and  two 
seasons  of  border-scrapping  in  Northern  India.  He 
had  gone  ahead  in  his  chosen  profession,  despite  a 
weakness  for  reading  poetry  in  bed  and  writing 
articles  descriptive  of  people  and  things  he  knew. 
During  his  father's  lifetime  his  allowance  (though 
he  was  but  a  third  son)  was  ample,  and  even  enabled 
him  to  play  polo,  and  shortly  after  his  father's  death 
an  almost  unknown  great-aunt  had  left  him  a  modest 
little  sum  —  not  much  of  a  fortune,  but  a  very  com- 
fortable possession.  Two  years  previous  to  his 
present  troubles  he  had  fallen  in  love.  So  had  the 
girl.  A  year  ago  he  had  proposed  and  been  ac- 
cepted. He  had,  for  her  sake,  fathered  a  reckless, 
impecunious  subaltern,  by  name  Penthouse,  lend- 
ing him  money  and  endorsing  his  notes,  and  now 
he  was  stripped  bare  to  his  pay.  If  he  had  never 


24  Hemming,  the  Adventurer 

met  the  girl,  things  would  not  look  so  bad,  for 
certain  papers  and  magazines  had  begun  to  buy 
his  stories.  By  sitting  up  to  it  and  working  hard, 
he  felt  that  he  could  make  more  as  a  writer  than 
as  a  soldier.  But  the  idea  of  giving  up  the  girl 
sent  a  sickening  chill  through  his  heart.  Surely  she 
would  understand,  and  cheer  him  up  the  new  path. 
But  it  was  with  a  heavy  heart  that  he  returned  to 
the  writing  of  the  letter.  Slowly,  doggedly  he  went 
through  with  it,  telling  of  his  loss  of  fortune, 
through  helping  a  person  whom  he  would  not  name, 
and  of  his  hopes  and  plans  for  the  future.  He  told 
of  the  adventurous  position  he  had  accepted,  but 
the  day  before,  with  an  American  Newspaper  Syndi- 
cate —  a  billet  that  would  necessitate  his  almost 
immediate  departure  for  Greece.  The  pain  of  his 
disappointment  crept,  all  unnoticed  by  him,  into  the 
style  of  his  writing,  and  made  the  whole  letter  sound 
strained  and  unnatural. 

By  the  time  the  letter  was  sealed  and  ready  for 
the  mail,  Hemming  was  tired  out.  He  flung  him- 
self on  the  bed,  unhooked  the  collar  of  his  mess- 
jacket  (they  hooked  at  the  collar  a  few  years  ago), 
and,  lighting  his  pipe,  lay  for  some  time  in  unhappy 
half-dreaming.  He  knew,  for,  at  the  last,  young 
Penthouse  had  not  been  careful  to  hide  his  cloven 
foot,  that  he  might  just  as  well  expect  another  great- 


A  Strange  Reception  25 

aunt  to  leave  him  another  lump  of  money  as  to  look 
for  any  reimbursement  from  the  source  of  his  mis- 
fortune. The  fellow  was  bad,  he  mused,  but  just 
how  bad  his  friends  and  the  world  must  find  out 
for  themselves.  Of  course  he  would  give  Molly  a 
hint  to  that  effect,  when  he  saw  her.  He  had  not 
done  so  in  the  letter,  because  it  had  been  hard  enough 
to  write,  without  that. 

Hemming  went  on  duty  next  day,  wearing,  to  the 
little  world  of  the  regiment,  his  usual  alert  and  un- 
disturbed expression.  Shortly  before  noon  he  wrote 
and  forwarded  a  formal  resignation  of  his  commis- 
sion. By  dinner-time  the  word  that  he  had  given 
up  the  service  had  reached  every  member  of  the 
mess.  Spalding's  story  had  also  made  the  rounds, 
in  one  form  or  another  (thanks  to  Major  O'Grady, 
that  righteous  enemy  to  gossip),  and  the  colonel 
alone  was  ignorant  of  it.  During  dinner  little  was 
said  about  Hemming's  sudden  move.  All  felt  it 
more  or  less  keenly;  the  colonel  grieved  over  the 
loss  of  so  capable  an  officer,  and  the  others  lamented 
the  fact  that  a  friend  and  a  gentleman  was  forced 
to  leave  their  mess  because  one  cad  happened  to  be 
a  member  of  it.  Hemming  felt  their  quiet  sympathy. 
Even  the  waiters  tending  him  displayed  an  increased 
solicitousness. 

Hemming  remained  in  Dublin  a  week  after  re- 


26          Hemming,  the  Adventurer 

signing  his  commission.  He  had  a  good  deal  of 
business  to  attend  to,  and  some  important  letters 
to  receive  —  one  from  the  American  Syndicate,  con- 
taining a  check,  and  at  least  two  from  Miss  Travers. 
It  had  been  the  lady's  custom,  ever  since  their  en- 
gagement, to  write  him  twice  a  week.  Three  were 
now  overdue.  The  American  letter  came,  with  its 
terse  and  satisfactory  typewritten  instructions  and 
narrow  slip  of  perforated  paper,  but  the  English 
missive  failed  to  put  in  an  appearance.  He  tried  not 
to  worry  during  the  day,  and,  being  busy,  succeeded 
fairly  well,  but  at  night,  being  defenceless,  care 
visited  him  even  in  his  dreams.  Sometimes  he  saw 
the  woman  he  loved  lying  ill  —  too  ill  to  hold  a  pen. 
Sometimes  he  saw  her  with  a  new  unsuspected  look 
in  her  eyes,  turning  an  indifferent  face  upon  his 
supplications.  He  lost  weight  in  those  few  days,  and 
Spalding  (who,  with  the  others,  thought  his  only 
trouble  the  loss  of  his  money)  said  that  but  for  the 
work  he  had  in  getting  a  fair  price  for  his  pony,  his 
high-cart,  and  his  extra  pairs  of  riding-boots,  he 
would  have  blown  his  brains  out. 

On  his  last  night  in  Dublin  his  old  regiment  gave 
a  dinner  in  his  honour.  Civilians  were  there,  and 
officers  from  every  branch  of  the  service,  and  when 
Major  O'Grady  beheld  Hemming  (which  did  not 
happen  until  late  in  the  dinner),  clothed  in  the  un- 


A  Strange  Reception  27 

accustomed  black  and  white,  with  his  medal  with 
two  clasps  pinned  on  his  coat,  he  tried  to  sing  some- 
thing about  an  Irish  gentleman,  and  burst  into  tears. 

"  There's  not  a  drop  of  the  craychure  in  his 
blood,"  said  Spalding,  across  the  table. 

"  But  he's  the  boy  with  the  warm  heart,"  whim- 
pered the  major. 

"  And  the  open  hand,"  said  the  subaltern. 

"  The  same  has  been  the  ruin  of  many  of  us," 
replied  O'Grady. 

It  was  well  for  Lieutenant  Penthouse  that  he  did 
not  return  to  Dublin  in  time  to  attend  that  dinner. 

Hemming  knew  a  score  of  private  houses  in 
London  where  he  would  be  welcome  for  a  night 
or  a  month,  but  in  his  bitter  mood  he  ignored  the 
rights  of  friendship  and  went  to  a  small  hotel  in 
an  unfashionable  part  of  the  town.  As  soon  as  he 
had  changed  from  his  rough  tweeds  into  more  suit- 
able attire,  he  started,  in  a  cab,  for  the  Travers 
house.  The  bishop  was  dead,  and  the  widow,  pre- 
ferring London  to  Norfolk,  spent  every  season  in 
town.  Hemming  was  sure  of  finding  some  one 
at  home,  though  he  trembled  at  the  memory  of  his 
evil  dreams.  Upon  reaching  the  house  he  dismissed 
the  cab.  The  maid  who  opened  the  door  recognized 
him,  and  showed  him  into  the  drawing-room. 


28  Hemming,  the  Adventurer 

"  I  hope  every  one  is  well,"  he  said,  pausing  on 
the  threshold. 

"  Yes,  sir,"  replied  the  maid,  looking  surprised 
at  the  question.  She  had  seen  Captain  Hemming 
many  times,  but  never  before  had  he  addressed  her. 

It  seemed  to  Hemming  that  he  waited  hours  in 
the  narrow,  heavily  furnished  room.  He  could  not 
sit  still.  At  last  he  got  to  his  feet,  and,  crossing  to 
a  corner  table,  examined  the  photographs  of  some 
people  he  knew.  He  wondered  where  his  had  gone 
to  —  the  full-length  portrait  by  Bettel,  in  field-uni- 
form. He  looked  for  it  everywhere,  an  uncom- 
fortable curiosity  pricking  him.  Turning  from  his 
search,  he  saw  Miss  Travers  watching  him.  He 
took  a  step  toward  her,  and  stopped  short.  Her  face 
was  white,  her  eyes  were  dark  with  the  shadow  of 
pain.  Something  had  put  out  the  familiar  illu- 
mination that  love  had  lighted  so  gloriously. 

"  Molly,"  whispered  the  man.  His  hands,  ex- 
tended at  first  sight  of  her,  dropped  impotently  at 
his  side.  "  For  God's  sake,  what  is  the  matter  ?  " 
he  cried.  His  honest  gray  eyes  asked  the  question 
as  plainly.  Hers  wavered,  and  looked  beyond  him 
in  a  pitiful,  strained  gaze. 

"  Why  do  you  ask  ?   You  surely  know,"  she  said. 

He  could  not  speak  for  a  moment.    His  brain,  in 


A  Strange  Reception  29 

a  whirl  of  apprehension,  groped  for  some  clue 
whereby  it  might  find  understanding. 

"  I  know  nothing,"  he  said,  at  last,  "  save  that  I 
am  horribly  afraid  of  something  I  do  not  under- 
stand —  of  your  silence  and  the  change  in  you." 
He  paused  for  a  moment,  scanning  her  averted  face. 
"  And  now  I  am  a  poor  man,"  he  added. 

At  that  a  faint  red  stole  into  her  cheeks.  He 
drew  nearer  and  laid  a  hand  quickly  and  tenderly 
upon  her  shoulder. 

"Dear  girl,  can  that  weigh  against  me?"  he 
asked,  scarce  above  his  breath.  She  moved  from  his 
touch  with  a  gesture  that  sent  the  blood  ringing  back 
to  brain  and  heart.  The  madness  of  the  righteous 
anger  ebbed,  leaving  him  cool  and  observant. 

"  I  must  beg  your  pardon  for  intruding,  and  now 
I  shall  go,"  he  said.  "  It  was  well  worth  the  loss 
of  a  few  thousands  of  pounds  —  to  find  the  real 
nature  of  your  love." 

He  passed  her  with  squared  shoulders  and  sneer- 
ing lip,  and  strode  briskly  toward  the  door. 

"  Wait,"  she  cried,  "  I  do  not  understand  you." 
Her  voice  contained  a  new  note. 

He  turned  on  the  threshold  and  bowed. 

"  You  have  known  me  long  enough,"  he  said. 

"  Yes,"  she  replied.  He  stood  in  the  doorway  and 
stared  at  her. 


30  Hemming,  the  Adventurer 

"  If  I  am  dreaming,  then  wake  me,  dear.  Surely 
you  love  me?  " 

His  voice  was  tense.  He  moved  as  if  to  approach 
her  again. 

"I  have  learned  of  your  other  life  —  of  your 
living  lie,"  she  cried,  weakly. 

"  My  other  life,"  he  repeated,  smiling  gently. 

"  Yes,"  she  said,  "  from  my  cousin.  It  was  his 
duty.  Tell  me  it  is  not  true." 

He  saw  the  tears  in  her  eyes.  He  marked  the 
supplication  in  her  voice.  But  he  did  not  move 
from  the  threshold. 

"  From  Penthouse  ?  "  he  inquired. 

She  did  not  answer  him.  She  stood  with  one 
hand  raised  to  her  breast,  and  a  world  of  entreaty 
in  her  gaze. 

"  I  thought,"  said  Hemming,  coldly,  "  that  you 
loved  me.  I  thought  that  when  a  woman  loved  the 
man  who  loves  her,  that  she  also  trusted  him.  But 
I  am  very  ignorant,  considering  my  age." 

He  took  his  hat  and  stick  from  the  rack  in  the 
hall,  and  let  himself  out  of  the  front  door.  He 
stood  for  a  few  seconds  on  the  steps  and  looked  up 
and  down  the  street.  A  cab  rolled  up  to  the  curb. 
After  drawing  on  his  gloves  and  adjusting  his 
monocle,  he  stepped  into  the  cab  and  quietly  gave 
the  name  of  his  club  to  the  man  behind. 


A  Strange  Reception  31 

The  cab  bowled  along  the  quiet,  respectable  street. 

"  Stop  here,"  cried  Hemming,  when  they  had 
reached  the  corner,  and  as  the  horse  slid  to  a  stand- 
still he  stepped  out,  and  went  up  to  a  heavily  dressed 
young  man  on  the  pavement.  The  stranger  did  not 
see  him,  and  held  on  in  the  direction  from  which 
Hemming  had  just  come. 

"  Excuse  me  —  a  word,"  said  Hemming. 

The  other  halted.  His  heavy,  handsome  face 
whitened  under  its  unhealthy  skin. 

"  Ah,  how  do,  Hemming,"  he  said. 

Hemming  took  the  extended  hand.  They  stood 
about  the  same  height.  Hemming  retained  his  grip 
of  the  other's  hand. 

"  I  am  somewhat  pressed  for  time,"  he  said,  "  so 
you'll  forgive  me  if  I  begin  immediately." 

He  jerked  Mr.  Penthouse  toward  him  with  a 
downward  wrench  of  his  right  arm,  and,  with  his 
stick  in  his  left  hand,  he  administered  a  short  and 
severe  caning. 

"  I'm  a-waitin'  for  you,  guvnor,"  called  the  cabby. 

Leaving  Mr.  Penthouse  seated  upon  the  pave- 
ment, dazed  and  blasphemous,  Hemming  returned 
to  the  cab  and  drove  away. 


CHAPTER    III. 

HEMMING  VISITS  THE  MANAGER  OF  THE  SYNDICATE 

HEMMING'S  club  was  a  favourite  resort  of  military 
and  naval  men  stationed  near  town,  or  home  on 
leave.  He  met  half  a  dozen  whom  he  knew  more 
or  less  intimately.  All  had  something  to  say  about 
his  change  of  career,  but  presently  he  escaped  them, 
and  sought  a  quiet  corner  of  the  reading-room, 
where  he  could  smoke  and  stare  at  the  latest  papers. 
Reading  was  out  of  the  question.  He  might  as  well 
have  tried  to  sing.  Several  times  he  was  ready  to 
leave  the  club  and  return  to  Miss  Travers,  but  the 
memory  of  the  movement  she  had  made  when  he 
had  touched  her  shoulder  kept  him  crushed  in  his 
chair.  He  dined  at  the  club,  and  drank  more  than 
was  his  custom.  The  sound  wine  brought  colour 
back  to  his  cheeks. 

A  youngster,  who  had  been  stationed  in  Halifax, 
Nova  Scotia,  for  a  year  past,  came  over  to  his 
table  with  an  American  magazine  in  his  hand. 

32 


Visits  the  Manager  of  the  Syndicate  33 

"  Do  you  know,  old  chap,  your  stories  are  quite 
the  rage  in  Halifax/'  he  said.  "  I  notice,  though, 
that  the  fellows  here  do  not  know  what  you  are 
up  to  at  all.  One  soon  leaves  the  trick  of  reading 
the  magazines  on  the  other  side." 

This  unexpected  word  for  his  literary  work 
cheered  Hemming  considerably.  He  invited  the 
youth  to  seat  himself  and  have  a  cigar.  Soon  he 
found  himself  telling  his  admirer  something  of  his 
aspirations. 

When  Anderson  of  the  Royal  Engineers  came 
in,  he  found  Hemming  and  the  lieutenant  on  leave 
from  Canada  still  talking  across  the  table.  Ander- 
son was  Hemming's  senior  by  some  four  or  five 
years,  but  they  had  been  friends  since  childhood. 
After  their  greeting,  Anderson  said : 

"Have  you  seen  Penthouse?" 

"  Yes,  I  met  him  about  five  o'clock,"  replied 
Hemming. 

Anderson's  face  brightened,  and  he  slapped  his 
knee  with  his  broad  hand. 

"  I  ran  across  him  in  an  apothecary's  shop  a  few 
hours  ago,  and,  as  I  had  just  heard  of  your  arrival, 
I  wondered  if  you  had  met  him,"  he  said.  "  You 
see,"  he  continued,  "  I  have  had  my  eye  on  him  of 
late.  The  Travers  and  I  are  still  very  good  friends, 
you  know." 


34  Hemming,  the  Adventurer 

"  This  sounds  very  interesting,"  broke  in  the 
lieutenant.  "What  is  it  all  about?" 

"  I   hardly  know   myself,"   answered   Hemming. 

The  lieutenant  wished  them  good  night,  shook 
hands  cordially  with  both,  and,  after  assuring  Hem- 
ming that  he  would  watch  eagerly  for  everything 
he  wrote,  left  the  dining-room. 

"  Williams  seems  a  good  sort,"  remarked  Hem- 
ming. 

Anderson  did  not  answer.  He  looked  as  if  he 
were  thinking  unusually  hard. 

"  I  suppose  you'll  be  in  town  for  awhile,"  he 
said. 

"  I  leave  to-morrow  for  Greece.  I'm  a  newspaper 
correspondent  now,"  replied  Hemming. 

"  You  must  stay  a  few  days,"  said  the  engineer. 
"  A  few  days  will  do  it.  You  have  no  right  to 
fly  off  the  handle  like  that." 

"Like  what?"  asked  the  other. 

"  My  dear  boy,  I  have  known  for  a  week  just 
how  it  would  be,  and  now  I  am  in  rather  a  hole 
myself,"  said  Anderson. 

"  Have  you  been  living  a  double  life?  "  inquired 
Hemming,  with  a  sneer. 

"  Great  heavens !  "  exclaimed  the  lusty  sapper, 
"  do  you  mean  to  say  ?  —  but  no,  I  only  told  the  lady 


Visits  the  Manager  of  the  Syndicate  35 

that  Penthouse  was  a  rotten  little  liar.  Strong 
language,  I  must  admit." 

Hemming  laughed  shortly. 

"  You  must  not  trouble  yourself  too  much,  Dicky, 
for  it's  really  not  worth  while,"  he  said. 

A  little  later  Hemming  excused  himself  to  his 
friend  on  the  plea  that  he  had  to  return  to  his 
hotel,  and  write  some  letters. 

"  I  am  my  own  master  no  longer,"  he  said. 

"  I  think  you  are  just  beginning,"  replied  Ander- 
son, drily. 

Hemming  looked  into  the  future,  saw  his  body 
journeying,  vagrant  as  the  wind,  and  his  hand  at  a 
hundred  adventures,  but  never  an  hour  of  freedom. 
He  went  down  the  wide  steps  and  into  the  street 
with  hell  and  longing  in  his  heart. 

Hemming  spent  two  weeks  in  Greece.  He  wrote 
a  few  descriptive  stories  for  his  syndicate,  and  then 
crossed  into  Turkey,  where  he  was  offered  a  com- 
mission. He  wired  that  fighting  was  certain.  The 
syndicate  thought  otherwise,  and  called  him  across 
the  world  to  see  or  make  trouble  in  South  America. 
He  cursed  their  stupidity  and  started,  spending  only 
a  few  hours  in  England,  and  taking  ship  in  Liver- 
pool for  New  York.  Arriving  in  that  city,  he  and 
his  possessions  (and  he  carried  a  full  outfit)  jour- 
neyed in  a  cab  to  an  old  and  respectable  hotel  on 


36  Hemming,  the  Adventurer 

Broadway.  The  fare  he  had  to  pay  opened  his 
eyes.  But  what  could  he  do  beyond  staring  the 
cabby  out  of  countenance  with  his  baleful,  glaring 
eye-glass?  At  the  hotel,  they  were  kind  enough 
to  take  him  for  a  duke  in  disguise.  Next  morning 
he  found  his  way  to  the  offices  of  the  New  York 
News  Syndicate,  in  a  high  gray  building  on  Fulton 
Street.  He  scrambled  into  one  of  the  great  caged 
elevators,  close  on  the  heels  of  a  stout  gentleman 
in  a  yellow  spring  overcoat  and  silk  hat.  The  lift 
was  lighted  by  several  small  electric  bulbs.  The 
air  was  warm,  and  heavy  with  the  scent  of  stale 
cigarette  smoke. 

"  New  York  News  Syndicate,"  said  Hemming 
to  the  attendant. 

"  Third  floor,"  said  the  man,  and  up  they  shot 
and  stopped.  The  iron  grating  was  rolled  back. 
Hemming  stepped  out  into  a  cool,  white-floored 
hall,  and,  turning,  found  the  stout  gentleman  at 
his  heels. 

"  I  think  you  are  Captain  Hemming,"  said  the 
stranger,  "  and  I  am  quite  sure  I  am  Benjamin 
Dodder." 

"  Ah !  the  manager  of  the  syndicate,"  exclaimed 
Hemming,  waggling  Mr.  Dodder's  extended  hand, 
and  looking  keenly  into  his  wide,  clean-shaven  face. 
Dodder  was  a  much  younger  man  than  his  figure 


Visits  the  Manager  of  the  Syndicate  37 

would  lead  one  to  suppose.  Hemming  thought  his 
face  far  too  heavy  for  his  bright,  good-natured 
brown  eyes. 

"  I  got  in  last  night,  and  came  'round  for  orders," 
explained  Hemming. 

"  That  was  good  of  you,"  replied  the  manager, 
looking  gratified.  He  led  the  way  through  several 
large  rooms,  where  clerks  and  stenographers  were 
hard  at  work,  to  his  private  office.  He  paused  at 
the  door,  and  turning,  said  to  a  clerk  with  a  glaring 
red  necktie  and  beautifully  parted  hair :  "  Ask  Mr. 
Wells  to  step  into  my  room  when  he  comes.  Tell 
him  Captain  Herbert  Hemming  has  arrived."  A 
dozen  keen,  inquiring  faces  were  lifted  from  desk 
and  machine,  and  turned  toward  the  new  corre- 
spondent. 

Within  the  manager's  office  were  expensively  up- 
holstered chairs,  leather-topped  tables,  polished 
bookcases,  and  half  a  dozen  admirably  chosen 
engravings,  and  above  the  grate  many  photographs, 
with  signatures  scrawled  across  them.  The  carpet 
underfoot  was  soft  and  thick. 

"  Try  this  chair,  sir,"  invited  Mr.  Dodder. 

Hemming  sank  into  it,  and  balanced  his  hat  and 
stick  on  his  knees ;  Mr.  Dodder  snatched  them  from 
him  and  placed  them  on  his  table.  Then  he  pulled 
off  his  coat  and  expanded  his  chest. 


38  Hemming,  the  Adventurer 

"  Now  I  begin  to  feel  like  working,"  he  remarked, 
with  youthful  gusto. 

"  What  an  extraordinary  chap,"  thought  Hem- 
ming. 

Dodder  opened  a  drawer  in  his  table,  and  took 
out  a  box  of  cigars.  Hemming  recognized  the  label, 
and  remembered  that  they  cost,  in  London,  three 
shillings  apiece  by  the  hundred. 

"  Have  a  smoke.  They're  not  half  bad,"  said  the 
manager,  extending  the  box. 

The  Englishman  lit  a  weed,  and  felt  that  it  was 
time  to  begin  business. 

"Why  did  you  recall  me  from  Greece?"  he 
asked.  "  They  are  sure  to  stand  up  to  Turkey, 
unless  all  signs  fail." 

This  straightforward  question  seemed  to  catch 
the  manager  unawares.  He  rolled  his  cigar  about 
between  his  white  fingers,  and  crossed  and  uncrossed 
his  legs  several  times  before  he  answered. 

"  It's  this  way,"  he  began,  and  paused  to  glance 
at  the  closed  door.  From  the  door  his  eyes  turned 
to  Hemming.  "  We  believe  as  you  do,"  he  said, 
"  but  another  man  wanted  the  job.  He  left  here 
three  days  ago." 

As  Hemming  had  nothing  to  say  to  that.  Dodder 
continued :  "  The  other  chap  has  been  with  us  five 
or  six  years,  and,  though  he  is  a  good  writer,  he 


Visits  the  Manager  of  the  Syndicate  39 

knows  nothing  of  war.  You  were  my  choice,  but 
Devlin  happens  to  be  Wells's  brother-in-law.  I 
was  up  against  it  all  right,  so  I  slid  off  as  easy  as 
I  could." 

"  Thank  you  all  the  same,"  said  Hemming. 
"  Now  tell  me  what  you  want  done  in  South 
America." 

"  We  want  you  to  start  in  Yucatan,"  replied 
Dodder,  "  or  somewhere  along  there,  and  travel, 
with  a  nigger  or  two,  to  any  part  of  the  country 
that  promises  copy.  If  you  hear  of  a  revolution 
anywhere,  go  hunt  it  out.  Use  the  wire  when  you 
have  news,  but  for  the  rest  of  it  write  good,  full 
stories  in  your  usual  style.  Why,  captain,  have 
you  any  idea  how  many  newspapers,  in  this  coun- 
try and  Canada,  printed  each  of  those  stories  of 
yours  from  Greece  and  Turkey  ?  " 

Hemming  shook  his  head. 

"  Twenty-six,  no  less,"  said  the  manager.  "  I 
believe  you  would  prove  a  paying  investment  if 
we  marooned  you  on  Anticosti,"  he  added. 

"  I  am  glad  you  like  my  stuff,"  answered  Hem- 
ming, "  and  as  for  Anticosti,  why,  I  believe  one 
could  make  some  interesting  copy  there." 

"  You  must  try  it  one  of  these  days,"  said  Dodder. 

At  that  moment,  a  thin,  undersized  man  entered 
the  room,  without  the  formality  of  knocking.  He 


40  Hemming,  the  Adventurer 

walked  with  a  slight  limp  in  his  left  foot.  Dodder 
introduced  him  to  Hemming  as  Mr.  Wells,  the  syn- 
dicate's treasurer,  and  a  partner  in  the  concern. 
Wells  gave  the  correspondent  a  nerveless  handshake. 

"  Glad  to  meet  you,"  he  said,  and  turned  to  the 
manager  with  an  air  of  inquiry. 

It  was  clear  to  the  Englishman  that  Dodder  was 
not  thoroughly  at  ease  in  his  partner's  company. 
He  returned  to  his  cigar  and  his  seat  with  a  sug- 
gestion of  "  by  your  leave  "  in  his  air. 

"  I  think  we  shall  let  Captain  Hemming  start 
south  as  soon  as  he  likes,"  he  said. 

"  It's  a  pleasure  trip,  is  it?  "  remarked  Wells,  with 
his  hands  in  his  pockets,  and  a  casual  eye  on  the 
Englishman. 

Hemming  stared,  his  cigar  half-raised  to  his  lips. 
Dodder  flushed. 

"  Then  Captain  Hemming  shall  start  day  after 
to-morrow,"  he  said,  in  a  soothing  voice.  Wells 
paid  no  attention  to  this  remark. 

"  I  want  you  to  send  in  more  copy.  You  might 
let  us  have  extra  stories  from  each  place,  under  an- 
other name.  We  could  use  them,"  he  said  to  Hem- 
ming. The  monocle  held  him  in  its  unwinking 
regard  for  several  seconds.  Then  the  Englishman 
spoke: 

"  I  wish  you  to  understand  me  from  the  start," 


Visits  the  Manager  of  the  Syndicate  41 

he  said.  "  When  I  was  in  the  service  of  my  coun- 
try, I  was  perfectly  willing  to  do  one  man's  work, 
or  three  men's  work,  for  the  pay  that  I  got,  because 
it  was  a  matter  of  sentiment  with  me,  and  because 
I  could  afford  to  do  it.  But  now,  if  I  do  two  men's 
work,  as  you  suggest,  I  draw  double  pay.  Another 
thing,  I  shall  take  my  orders  from  one  man,  or  I 
shall  take  no  orders  at  all.  Mr.  Dodder  is  my  man 
for  choice." 

It  was  evident  that  this  speech  of  the  new  corre- 
spondent's threw  Dodder  into  a  flurry,  and  left 
Wells  aghast.  Hemming  sat  in  his  comfortable 
chair,  and  calmly  smoked  his  excellent  cigar.  At 
last  Wells  found  his  voice. 

"  I  think  the  less  I  have  to  do  with  this  man, 
the  better,"  he  said,  and  left  the  room.  When  the 
door  shut  behind  him,  Dodder  sighed  with  relief. 

"  Thank  God  that's  over,"  he  said,  and  immedi- 
ately expanded  to  his  former  genial  self. 

"What  is  the  matter  with  him?"  asked  Hem- 
ming, mildly. 

"  Guess  he  was  born  that  way,"  replied  the  man- 
ager, "  and  he  really  doesn't  know  what  an  impres- 
sion he  gives.  He  has  a  great  head  for  business." 

"  I  should  judge  so,"  said  Hemming. 

Dodder  laughed.  "  Now  pull  up  your  chair  and 
we'll  make  your  plans,"  he  said,  straightening  his 


42          Hemming,  the  Adventurer 

bulky  legs  under  the  table.  They  worked  busily 
with  maps  and  note-books  for  over  an  hour.  At 
the  end  of  that  time  a  clerk  entered  with  a  bunch  of 
letters  and  manuscripts.  One  of  the  letters  was  for 
Hemming.  It  had  been  readdressed  and  forwarded 
half  a  dozen  times;  and  after  all  it  proved  to  be 
nothing  more  important  than  a  meandering  scrawl 
from  Major  O'Grady.  "  We  keep  your  memory 
green,  dear  boy,"  wrote  the  major,  and  much  more 
in  the  same  vein.  But  a  crooked  postscript  proved 
of  interest.  It  said  that  Penthouse  was  back  in 
Dublin,  and  was  going  to  the  bow-wows  at  a  fear- 
ful pace. 

Hemming  completed  his  arrangements  with  the 
syndicate,  and,  returning  to  his  hotel,  lunched  sol- 
idly on  underdone  steak,  French  fried  potatoes,  a 
bottle  of  ale,  a  jam  tart,  and  coffee.  Love  might 
display  clay  feet.  Wells  might  be  as  rude  as  the 
devil,  and  Penthouse  might  go  to  the  devil,  but 
Herbert  Hemming  did  not  intend  setting  forth  on 
his  affairs  with  an  empty  stomach.  The  world  was  a 
rotten  enough  place  without  that.  He  consumed 
three  cigarettes  over  his  coffee,  in  a  leisurely  man- 
ner, and  by  the  time  he  had  left  his  table  by  the 
window  the  great  dining-room  was  empty.  He 
spent  the  rest  of  the  day  wandering  about  the  city, 


Visits  the  Manager  of  the  Syndicate  43 

conquering  a  desire  to  write  to  Miss  Travers.  He 
dined  at  an  Italian  restaurant,  and  went  early  to 
bed.  By  nine  next  morning-,  he  and  his  traps  were 
aboard  a  little  south-bound  steamer. 


CHAPTER    IV. 

THE    ADVENT    OF    MR.    o'ROURKE    AND    HIS    SERVANT 

THE  company  of  the  Laura  was  small  and  undis- 
tinguished. The  captain  was  a  Nova  Scotian,  big 
and  red,  who  had,  once  upon  a  time,  skippered  a 
full-rigged  ship,  and  who  still  sighed  at  the  memory 
of  it  as  he  looked  along  the  narrow,  dirty  decks  of 
his  present  craft.  The  mate  was  a  New  Yorker, 
with  a  master's  certificate  and  a  head  full  of  stories 
of  the  prowess  of  the  American  Navy.  The  chief 
engineer  had  once  been  a  good  man  in  his  profes- 
sion, but  the  whiskey  of  his  mother  country  had 
surely  and  slowly  brought  him  down  to  his  present 
berth.  The  half-dozen  passengers  were  of  little  in- 
terest to  Hemming,  and  the  days  dragged  for  him, 
sickening  with  memories.  In  self-defence  he  re- 
verted to  fiction,  and  even  attempted  verse. 

One  morning,  in  the  Gulf  of  Mexico,  the  Laura 
was  signalled  by  an  open  boat  with  a  rubber  blanket 
for  sail.  The  engines  slowed.  Hemming  was  on 

44 


Mr.   O'Rourke  and  His  Servant      45 

the  bridge  at  the  time,  and  turned  the  captain's 
glass  upon  the  little  craft. 

"  What  do  you  make  of  it,  sir  ?  "  inquired  the 
skipper,  from  the  door  of  the  tiny  chart-room  below. 

"  She  looks  like  a  ship's  boat,"  replied  Hemming. 
"  The  sail  is  rigged  square,  with  a  boat-hook  and 
an  oar  for  yards,  and  has  a  hole  in  the  middle;  it's 
a  poncho,  I  think.  There's  a  nigger  forward,  wav- 
ing a  shirt,  and  a  white  man  aft,  smoking." 

The  captain  hurried  up  to  the  bridge  and  took  the 
glass.  After  aiming  it  at  the  bobbing  stranger,  he 
turned  to  Hemming. 

"  My  boat,"  he  said,  "  and  the  same  damn  fool 
aboard  her." 

"Your  boat?"  inquired  Hemming. 

The  mariner  glared,  with  angry  eyes,  across  the 
glinting  water.  Suddenly  his  face  cleared.  "  I 
win,"  he  cried.  "  I  bet  him  ten  dollars  he'd  have 
to  get  out  inside  six  weeks,  and  by  cracky,  so  he 
has!" 

"  Who  is  he?  "  asked  the  Englishman. 

"  He's  Mr.  O'Rourke,  the  man  who's  lookin'  for 
trouble,"  replied  the  big  Nova  Scotian. 

"  What's  he  doing  with  your  boat,  and  why  didn't 
he  take  a  decent  sail  while  he  was  about  it  ? " 
Hemming  asked. 

"  He  had  a  decent  enough  sail  when  I  saw  him 


46  Hemming,  the  Adventurer 

last,"  explained  the  skipper,  "  and  I  don't  mean 
to  say  that  he's  a  thief.  He  paid  for  the  boat,  right 
enough,  though  he  bargained  pretty  close.  He 
wanted  to  see  more  of  Cuba,  you  know,  but  the 
Spaniards  wouldn't  have  anything  more  to  do  with 
him,  because  of  something  he  wrote,  so  he  just  got 
me  to  steam  in  five  weeks  ago,  and  let  him  off  in 
the  port  life-boat.  Now  he's  back  again,  with  a 
nigger." 

"What's  his  game?"  asked  Hemming. 

"  Search  me,  —  unless  it's  just  trouble,"  said  the 
mariner,  returning  the  glass  and  hurrying  down 
to  the  deck. 

By  this  time  the  Laura  was  rolling  lazily.  The 
captain  ordered  a  man  to  stand  ready  with  a  line; 
the  poncho  was  lowered,  aboard  the  adventurous 
rowboat,  and  the  nigger  manned  the  oars;  the 
white  man  in  the  stern  sheets  stood  up  and  raised 
his  Panama  hat,  and  the  passengers  along  the 
Laura's  rail  replied  with  cheers.  The  captain  leaned 
far  over  the  side.  "What  about  that  bet?"  he 
shouted.  The  stranger  drew  his  hand  from  a  pocket 
of  his  ragged  ducks  and  held  something  aloft,  — 
something  crumpled  and  green.  Then  he  regained 
his  soaring  seat,  and  gripped  the  tiller. 

The  captain  lifted  a  beaming  countenance  to  Hem- 
ming on  the  bridge.  "  That's  the  first  white  man 


Mr.  O'Rourke  and  His  Servant      47 

who  ever  got  out  of  Cuba  with  ten  dollars,"  he 
bawled.  Evidently  the  captain  did  not  consider 
Spaniards  as  white  men. 

The  line  was  thrown,  and  went  circling  and  un- 
folding through  the  air  until  it  fell  into  the  boat. 
The  ladder  was  unlashed  and  dropped  over  the 
Laura's  side.  In  a  minute  O'Rourke  and  the  pacif- 
ico  were  on  the  deck,  and  in  another  minute  the 
port  life-boat  was  back  on  its  davits.  O'Rourke 
was  warmly  welcomed  aboard.  Even  the  chief 
engineer  appeared  from  below  to  shake  his  hand. 
The  captain  hurried  him  to  the  chart-room,  and 
beckoned  to  Hemming  from  the  door.  When  Hem- 
ming entered,  he  found  the  newcomer  lying  full 
length  on  the  locker,  with  a  glass  of  whiskey  and 
water  in  his  left  hand,  and  the  other  under  his 
head.  He  got  stiffly  to  his  feet  upon  the  English- 
man's entrance,  and,  after  shaking  hands  cordially, 
lay  down  again. 

"  Now  what  do  you  think  of  that  ?  "  queried  the 
skipper,  glancing  from  O'Rourke  to  the  other. 

O'Rourke  laughed  good-naturedly,  but  with  a 
note  of  weariness.  "  I  must  confess  it  was  not  ex- 
actly a  Sunday-school  picnic,"  he  said,  "  and  a 
chap's  insides  get  fearfully  squirmy  on  a  diet  of 
sugar-cane  and  a  few  random  plantains." 

The  skipper,  who  had  been  carefully,  even  lov- 


48  Hemming,  the  Adventurer 

ingly,  mixing  drinks  in  two  more  glasses,  eyed 
O'Rourke  severely. 

"  You'd  better  get  married,  and  give  up  them 
tomfool  actions,"  he  said,  "  or  some  fine  day  the 
Spaniards  will  catch  up  to  you,  and  then,  —  well, 
you'll  be  sorry,  that's  all." 

"  They  caught  up  to  several  of  our  party  this 
time,"  remarked  O'Rourke,  casually. 

"  By  Jove !  "  exclaimed  Hemming,  straightening 
his  eye-glass. 

The  man  with  the  Irish  name  and  non-committal 
accent  turned  his  head  on  the  locker,  and  smiled  at 
the  other  adventurer. 

"  They  were  not  particular  pals  of  mine,"  he 
said,  reassuringly,  "  so  I  didn't  stay  to  inquire  their 
fate." 

"  You're  fool  enough  to  have  stayed,"  remarked 
the  skipper. 

Hemming  stared  at  the  free  and  easy  language 
of  the  mariner,  and  at  O'Rourke's  good-natured 
way  of  taking  it,  for  he  had  not  yet  become  en- 
tirely accustomed  to  the  ways  of  the  world  outside 
the  army,  and  this  O'Rourke,  though  unshaven  and 
in  tatters,  was  certainly  a  gentleman,  by  Hemming' s 
standards.  The  master  of  the  Laura  may  have  read 
something  of  this  in  his  passenger's  face,  for  he 
turned  to  him  and  said :  "  Mr.  O'Rourke  and  I 


Mr.  O'Rourke  and  His  Servant      49 

are  pretty  good  friends.  We've  played  ashore  to- 
gether, and  we've  sailed  together  more  than  once, 
and  when  I  call  him  a  fool,  why,  it's  my  way  of 
saying  he's  the  bangest-up,  straight-grained  man 
I  know.  I  never  call  him  a  fool  before  his  inferiors, 
and  if  it  came  to  any  one  else  calling  him  anything, 
why  —  "  and  he  slapped  his  big  red  hand  on  the 
chart-room  table  with  a  blow  that  rocked  the  bottles. 

"  Shut  up,"  said  O'Rourke,  blushing  beneath  his 
bristles  and  tan,  "  or  Captain  Hemming  will  take  me 
for  as  silly  an  ass  as  he  takes  you." 

"  Not  at  all,"  began  Hemming,  awkwardly,  and, 
when  the  others  roared  with  laughter,  he  hid  his 
confusion  by  draining  his  glass.  He  had  never 
before  been  laughed  at  quite  so  violently,  but  he 
found,  rather  to  his  surprise,  that  he  liked  it. 

After  lunch,  O'Rourke  (whose  full  name  was 
Bertram  St.  Ives  O'Rourke)  retired  to  his  state- 
room, and  did  not  reappear  until  dinner-time.  He 
looked  better  then,  clean  shaven,  and  attired  in  one 
of  the  skipper's  extra  warm-weather  suits.  He 
filled  the  borrowed  clothes  well  enough  in  length 
and  in  breadth  of  shoulder,  but  confessed,  at  table, 
ihat  the  trousers  lapped  twice  around  his  waist. 
During  the  simple  meal,  the  conversation  was  all 
of  the  internal  disturbance  of  Cuba,  and  all  the 
passengers,  as  well  as  the  skipper,  seemed  interested 


50  Hemming,  the  Adventurer 

in  the  matter  and  well  informed  of  recent  incidents. 
Hemming  listened  keenly,  now  and  then  putting 
a  question.  O'Rourke  told  a  part  of  his  adventures 
during  his  last  stay  in  the  island,  and  sketched,  in 
vivid  and  well-chosen  words,  the  daily  life  of  the 
patriots.  It  was  not  as  romantic  as  Hemming  had 
hoped. 

"  It's  a  low  sort  of  fighting  on  both  sides,  —  not 
the  kind  you  have  mixed  in,"  said  O'Rourke  to 
Hemming. 

"  I  ?  "  exclaimed  Hemming,  while  the  dusky  pas- 
sengers and  burly  skipper  pricked  up  their  ears. 

"  I  saw  your  initials  —  H.  H.  —  on  your  cigar- 
ette case,"  he  explained,  "  and  I  have  read  some 
good  things  signed  H.  H.,  by  an  Englishman,  on 
English  army  life,  so  of  course  I  spotted  you." 

"  I'm  doing  work  for  the  New  York  News  Syn- 
dicate now,"  said  Hemming. 

After  dinner,  O'Rourke  led  the  way  to  the  chart- 
room.  From  the  locker  he  produced  a  small  type- 
writing machine.  This  he  oiled,  and  set  up  on  the 
table.  The  skipper  winked  at  Hemming. 

"  I  wish  I'd  smashed  the  danged  thing  while  he 
was  away,"  he  said.  O'Rourke  paid  not  the  slight- 
est attention  to  this  pleasantry,  but  inserted  a  sheet 
of  paper,  of  which  he  had  a  supply  stored  in  the 
same  place  of  safety. 


Mr.   O'Rourke  and   His  Servant      51 

"  Now,"  said  he,  seating  himself  on  a  camp-stool 
before  the  machine,  "  I  don't  mind  how  much  you 
two  talk,  but  I  have  some  work  to  do." 

"You,  too?"  laughed  the  Englishman. 

"  I'm  only  a  free-lance,"  said  O'Rourke,  and, 
lighting  a  cigarette,  he  began  clicking  the  keys. 
For  more  than  an  hour  he  worked  steadily,  while 
the  skipper  and  Hemming  sat  side  by  side  on  the 
locker  and  told  stories.  The  door  was  hooked  open, 
and  a  fresh  breeze  kept  the  room  cool,  and  circled 
the  pungent  smoke. 

When  Hemming  turned  in,  he  found  that  he 
could  not  sleep.  His  brain  jumped  and  kept  busy, 
in  spite  of  him.  Now  he  lived  again  his  exciting 
days  in  Northern  India.  From  this  he  flashed  to 
the  Norfolk  tennis  lawn,  where  Molly  Travers 
listened  again  to  his  ardent  vows.  He  turned  over 
and  tried  to  win  himself  to  slumber  by  counting 
imaginary  sheep.  But  that  only  seemed  to  suggest 
to  his  memory  the  care-free  days  of  his  youth. 
Again  he  built  forts  in  the  warm  earth  of  the  pot- 
ting-house.  Again  he  fled  from  the  red-headed 
gardener,  and  stumbled  into  piled-up  ranks  of  flower- 
pots, hurling  them  to  destruction.  Again  he  watched 
his  father,  in  pink  and  spurs,  trot  down  the  avenue 
in  the  gold,  rare  sunlight  of  those  days.  Feeling 
that  these  good  memories  would  carry  him  safely 


52  Hemming,  the  Adventurer 

to  the  land  of  peace,  he  closed  his  eyes,  —  only  to 
find  his  mind  busy  with  that  last  day  in  London. 
He  climbed  swiftly  from  his  berth,  and,  after  slip- 
ping his  feet  into  his  shoes,  ascended  to  the  deck. 
He  did  not  wait  to  change  his  pajamas  for  anything 
more  conventional.  There  was  not  a  breath  of 
wind.  The  stars  burned  big  and  white;  the  water 
over  the  side  flashed  away  in  silver  fire,  and  farther 
out  some  rolling  fish  broke  its  trail  of  flame;  to 
starboard  lay  a  black  suggestion  of  land.  Looking 
forward,  he  saw  that  the  door  of  the  chart-room 
stood  open,  emitting  a  warm  flood  of  lamplight. 
He  went  up  to  the  lower  bridge,  or  half-deck,  where 
the  chart-room  stood,  and  glanced  within.  The 
skipper  lay  on  the  locker,  snoring  peacefully,  and 
O'Rourke  still  clicked  at  the  typewriter.  Hemming 
stole  quietly  in  and  poured  himself  a  glass  of  water 
from  the  clay  bottle  on  the  rack. 

"  Don't  let  me  disturb  you,"  he  said  to  the  worker. 
"  I'll  just  have  a  smoke  to  kill  wakefulness." 

"  If  you  can't  sleep,"  said  O'Rourke,  "  just  listen 
to  this  as  long  as  your  eyes  will  stay  open." 

He  sorted  over  his  pages  of  copy  and  began  to 
read.  His  voice  was  low-pitched,  and  through  it 
sounded  the  whispering  of  the  steamer's  passage 
across  the  rocking  waters.  The  style  was  full  of 
colour,  and  Hemming  was  keenly  interested  from 


Mr.   O'Rourke  and   His  Servant      53 

start  to  finish.  Not  until  the  last  page  was  turned 
over  did  O'Rourke  look  up. 

"  What !    not  asleep  yet !  "  he  exclaimed. 

"  That  seems  to  me  very  fine,"  said  Hemming, 
seriously,  "  and  I  should  certainly  take  it  for  litera- 
ture of  an  unusually  high  order  if  I  did  not  know 
that  journalists  cannot  write  literature." 

"Do  you  think  it  will  do?"  asked  O'Rourke, 
modestly. 

"  My  dear  chap,"  replied  Hemming,  "  it  will  do 
for  anything,  —  for  a  book,  or  to  carve  on  a  monu- 
ment. It's  a  dashed  sight  too  good  for  any  news- 
paper." 

"  It  certainly  wouldn't  do  for  a  newspaper," 
laughed  the  younger  man.  "  Just  imagine  an  editor 
with  a  blue  pencil,  loose  on  those  descriptions  of 
vegetation.  When  I  do  newspaper  stuff,  I  throw 
in  the  blood  and  leave  out  the  beauty.  That  is  for 
Griffin's  Magazine." 

"  Are  you  sure  of  your  market?  "  asked  the  Eng- 
lishman, wondering  for  even  in  England,  Griffin's 
was  known  for  its  quality. 

"  It  was  ordered,"  said  O'Rourke,  "  and  this  will 
make  the  ninth  article  I  have  done  for  them  within 
five  years.  After  months  of  seeing  and  feeling 
things,  I  put  the  heart  of  it  all,  at  one  sitting,  into 
ya  story  for  Griffin's.  After  that  I  cook  my  experi- 


54  Hemming,  the  Adventurer 

ences  and  hard-earned  knowledge  into  lesser  dishes 
for  lesser  customers.  Sometimes  I  even  let  it  off 
in  lyrics." 

"  You  must  flood  the  magazines,"  remarked  Hem- 
ming, dryly. 

"  Not  I.  To  begin  with,  I  place  a  great  deal  of 
my  work  with  publications  of  which  you  have  never 
heard,  and  then,  as  I  am  young  and  very  productive, 
I  write  under  three  names,  using  my  own  for  only 
the  things  I  wish  to  stand." 

He  arose  and  turned  out  the  light,  and  to  Hem- 
ming's  amazement  gray  dawn  was  on  the  sea  and 
the  narrow  decks,  and  on  the  morning  wind  came 
the  odour  of  coffee. 

"  I  think  we  are  both  good  for  a  nap  now,"  said 
O'Rourke.  They  left  the  master  of  the  boat  slum- 
bering on  his  narrow  couch,  and  went  to  their  state- 
rooms; and  before  Hemming  fell  asleep,  with  his 
face  to  the  draft  of  the  port,  he  thanked  God  in 
his  heart  for  a  new  friend. 


CHAPTER   V. 

THE    ADVENTURERS    DISPENSE    WITH    MR.    NUNEZ 

HEMMING  and  O'Rourke,  and  O'Rourke's  low- 
caste  Cuban,  landed  in  Belize.  The  Laura  continued 
on  her  way  to  Truxillo,  and  more  southern  ports, 
for  which  she  had  a  mixed  freight  of  cheap  articles 
of  American  manufacture.  She  would  start  north 
again  from  Costa  Rica,  should  she  be  able  to  find 
a  cargo,  so  O'Rourke  and  Hemming  had  both  given 
manuscripts  and  letters  to  the  Nova  Scotia  skipper, 
for  mailing  at  the  first  likely  opportunity,  with  word 
that  they  would  wire  an  address  later.  This  done, 
the  adventurers  purchased  three  undersized  mules. 
O'Rourke  picked  up  what  he  could  in  the  way  of 
an  outfit,  having  left  everything  but  his  pipe  and 
poncho  in  the  Cuban  bush.  They  loaded  one  of  the 
mules  with  their  belongings,  and  put  it  in  charge 
of  John  Nunez,  and,  mounting  the  others,  started 
south,  skirting  the  coast.  The  trip  was  uneventful, 
but  Hemming  wrote  a  number  of  stories  descriptive 

55 


56  Hemming,   the  Adventurer 

of  the  country  and  the  people,  the  mules  and  his 
companions,  under  the  general  title  of  "  Along  New 
Trails  with  Old  Mules."  O'Rourke  regarded  his 
friend's  display  of  energy  with  kindly  disdain. 

"  There  is  bigger  game  to  seaward,"  he  said,  and 
seemed  ever  on  the  lookout  for  rumours  of  war  from 
the  northeast.  After  three  weeks'  easy  travelling, 
they  awoke  one  morning  to  find  that  John  Nunez 
had  taken  his  departure  during  the  night,  and,  along 
with  his  departure,  one  of  their  mules,  a  bag  of 
hardtack  and  a  slab  of  bacon. 

O'Rourke  looked  relieved.  "  I've  often  wondered 
how  I  could  ever  get  rid  of  him,  you  know.  I  once 
saved  his  life,"  he  said. 

"  It's  a  good  thing  we  happened  to  be  using  the 
rest  of  the  provisions  for  pillows,  or,  by  gad,  your 
precious  servant  would  have  left  us  to  starve," 
replied  Hemming,  in  injured  tones. 

"  Cheer  up,  old  man,"  laughed  O'Rourke.  "  We're 
not  three  miles  from  the  coast,  and  I'll  bet  we  are 
within  ten  of  a  village  of  some  sort,"  he  explained. 

He  was  right,  for  by  noon  they  were  sitting  at 
their  ease  before  black  coffee  and  a  Spanish  ome- 
lette, in  a  shabby  eating-house.  The  town  was  one 
of  some  importance  —  in  its  own  eyes.  Also  it  in- 
terested Hemming.  But  O'Rourke  sniffed. 


Adventurers  Dispense  with  Mr.  Nunez  57 

"  Gay  colours  and  bad  smells  —  I've  experienced 
the  whole  thing  before,"  said  he. 

"  Then  why  the  devil  did  you  leave  the  Laura?' " 
asked  Hemming,  pouring  himself  another  glass  of 
doubtful  claret. 

"  To  look  after  you,"  retorted  O'Rourke. 

"  But,  seriously,"  urged  the  Englishman. 

"  Oh,  if  you  will  be  serious,"  confessed  the  free- 
lance, "  I'll  admit  that  it's  in  my  blood.  I  might 
have  gone  to  New  York  and  waited  till  further 
developments  in  Cuba;  but  I  could  no  more  see 
you  go  ashore,  to  waste  your  time  and  money,  with- 
out wanting  to  follow  suit,  than  you  could  see  me 
buy  that  high-priced  claret  without  wanting  to  drink 
it  all  yourself." 

Hemming  turned  his  monocle  upon  his  friend  in 
mild  and  curious  regard. 

"  I  doubt  if  there  is  another  chap  alive,"  he  said, 
"  who  can  write  such  wisdom  and  talk  such  rot  as 
you." 

"  Oh,  go  easy,"  expostulated  O'Rourke,  "  you've 
only  read  one  article  of  mine  —  the  twenty-page 
result  of  five  weeks'  sugar-cane  and  observation." 

"  It  was  remarkable  stuff,"  mused  Hemming. 

The  younger  man  had  the  grace  to  bow.  '  You 
don't  look  like  the  kind  of  chap  who  is  lavish  with 
his  praise,"  he  said. 


58  Hemming,  the  Adventurer 

Lighting  a  potent  local  cigar,  he  leaned  back  in 
his  rickety  chair,  and  shouted  something  in  Spanish. 
The  owner  of  the  place  appeared,  rubbing  his  hands 
together  and  bowing.  He  was  a  fat,  brown  man, 
smelling  of  native  cookery  and  native  tobacco. 
O'Rourke  talked,  at  some  length,  in  Spanish,  only 
a  few  words  of  which  could  Hemming  understand. 
The  proprietor  waved  his  cigarette  and  gabbled  back. 
Again  O'Rourke  took  up  the  conversation,  and  this 
time  his  flow  of  mongrel  Spanish  was  pricked  out 
with  bluff  English  oaths. 

Hemming  asked  what  it  was  all  about.  O'Rourke 
gave  himself  up  to  laughter. 

"  I  have  been  trying  to  sell  our  mules,"  he  said, 
at  last,  "  but  find  that  the  market  is  already  glutted." 

Hemming  shook  his  head  disconsolately.  "  I  fail 
to  see  the  joke,"  he  said. 

"  Mine  host  here  informs  me  that  a  Cuban  gen- 
tleman arrived  shortly  after  daylight  this  morning," 
continued  O'Rourke,  "  and  sold  a  mule  to  the  Amer- 
ican consul." 

"  Our  mule,"  gasped  the  enlightened  Englishman 
—  then,  leaping  from  his  chair  with  a  violence  that 
caused  the  fat  proprietor  to  take  refuge  behind  a 
table,  he  cried  that  there  was  still  a  chance  of  over- 
taking the  rascal.  O'Rourke  begged  him  to  finish 
his  claret  in  peace.  "  And  don't  do  anything  rash," 


Adventurers  Dispense  with  Mr.  Nunez  59 

he  said,  "  for  I  warn  you  that  if  you  catch  him 
you'll  have  to  keep  him.  I  tremble  even  now,  lest 
he  should  enter  the  door  and  reclaim  me  as  his 
master."  He  blew  a  thin  wisp  of  smoke  toward  the 
ceiling,  and  laughed  comfortably.  Then  his  glance 
lowered  to  his  friend,  who  had  reseated  himself  at 
the  other  side  of  the  table.  He  saw  amazement 
and  consternation  written  large  in  Hemming's  face. 
The  landlord  also  looked  thunderstruck,  standing 
with  his  mouth  open,  his  eyes  fixed  upon  the  door, 
and  a  dirty  napkin  idle  in  his  hand.  O'Rourke 
turned  and  followed  their  enraptured  gaze  —  and 
behold,  clothed  in  new  trousers  and  gaudy  poncho, 
John  Nunez  bowing  on  the  threshold. 

For  long  seconds  a  painful  silence  held  the  in- 
mates of  the  eating-house  in  thrall.  The  delin- 
quent broke  it  with  a  stream  of  talk.  He  pointed 
heavenward ;  he  touched  his  breast  with  his  fingers ; 
he  spread  his  arms  wide,  and  all  the  while  he  gab- 
bled in  Spanish.  Tears  ran  down  his  dusky  cheeks. 
O'Rourke  regained  his  easy  attitude,  and  heard  the 
story  to  the  end.  He  kept  his  gaze  upon  the  Cuban's 
face,  and  not  once  did  the  Cuban  meet  it.  At  last 
the  fellow  stopped  talking,  and  stood  before  his 
master  with  his  sullen,  tear-stained  face  half-hidden 
in  a  fold  of  his  gay  blanket. 

"  Well  ?  "  inquired  Hemming. 


60  Hemming,  the  Adventurer 

"  He  says  that  he  meant  no  harm,"  replied 
O'Rourke,  "  but  that  the  desire  to  steal  was  like 
fever  in  his  blood.  He  swears  this  by  more  saints 
than  I  know  the  name  of.  He  says  that  he  will  give 
me  the  money  that  he  got  for  the  mule,  and  will 
toil  for  me  until  the  day  of  his  death,  without  a 
dollar  of  wages.  But  he  has  sworn  all  these  things 
before,  and  every  fit  of  repentance  seems  to  make 
him  more  of  a  rogue.  As  for  wages  —  why,  his 
grub  costs  more  than  he  is  worth." 

"  Just  let  me  take  him  in  hand,"  said  Hemming. 

"  You  may  try,"  assented  O'Rourke. 

By  this  time,  and  knowing  his  master's  easy 
nature,  Nunez  was  feeling  more  at  home.  The  atti- 
tude of  the  penitent  was  not  natural  to  him.  He 
freed  one  arm  from  the  folds  of  his  poncho  and 
calmly  extracted  a  cigarette  from  his  sash.  This 
he  was  about  to  light  when  Hemming's  voice  ar- 
rested him  in  the  act. 

"  Throw  away  that  cigarette,"  came  the  order. 

The  Cuban  feigned  ignorance  of  the  English 
language.  He  raised  his  eyebrows,  paused  a  second 
to  smile  insolently,  and  lit  the  frail  roll  of  black 
tobacco  with  a  flourish.  He  inhaled  the  first  puff 
with  very  evident  pleasure,  and  let  it  escape  by 
way  of  his  nostrils.  But  he  did  not  draw  the  second, 
for  Hemming's  hand  landed  unexpectedly  upon  the 


Adventurers  Dispense  with  Mr.  Nunez  6 1 

side  of  his  head.  The  cigarette  flew  at  a  tangent, 
unrolling  as  it  hit  the  earthen  floor.  The  Cuban 
span  completely  around,  reeled  for  a  second,  and 
then  sprang  at  the  Englishman  with  drawn  knife. 
O'Rourke  and  the  half-breed  Mexican  cried  a  warn- 
ing. They  might  have  saved  their  breath  for  their 
next  long  walk,  for  Hemming,  quick  as  a  terrier 
in  his  movements,  stepped  to  one  side  and  delivered 
a  remarkable  blow  with  his  fist.  The  Cuban  —  a 
flash  of  gay  clothing  and  harmless  knife-blade  — 
went,  backward,  through  the  narrow  doorway. 

"  And  now,"  said  Hemming  to  O'Rourke,  "  what 
are  we  to  do  next  ?  " 

"Do  next?"  repeated  O'Rourke,  sadly,  "why, 
just  sit  and  whistle  for  the  fifty  Mexican  dollars, 
which  the  American  consul  paid  John  for  our  mule." 

Hemming  hurried  to  the  door  and  looked  up  and 
down  the  glaring  street.  Nunez  was  nowhere  to  be 
seen. 

"  He's  not  lying  around  anywhere,  shamming 
dead,  is  he?"  inquired  O'Rourke. 

"  Don't  see  him,"  replied  Hemming. 

"  Then  now  is  our  chance  to  shake  him  for  good," 
said  the  other,  "  and  the  only  way  I  can  think  of 
is  to  put  out  to  sea." 

As  if  he  had  made  the  most  reasonable  suggestion 


62  Hemming,  the  Adventurer 

in  the  world,  he  paid  their  score  and  stepped  into  the 
street.  Hemming  followed  to  the  water-front,  too 
deep  in  wonder  to  offer  objections,  or  demand  ex- 
planations. 


CHAPTER   VI. 

HEMMING    HEARS    OF    THE    VILLAIN 

Six  days  later,  in  a  club  in  Kingston,  Jamaica, 
Hemming  ran  across  a  naval  officer  whom  he  had 
met,  years  ago,  at  a  county  ball. 

"  Hullo,  left  the  army?  "  asked  the  sailor. 

"  Verily,"  replied  Hemming,  who  could  not  re- 
call the  other's  name. 

"  What  —  more  money  ?  " 

"  Less." 

"  Nice  scandal  in  your  old  regiment.  You're  well 
out  of  it." 

"  I  have  heard  nothing.  We  rather  prided  our- 
selves on  our  respectability." 

"  A  chap  called  Penthouse,"  ran  on  the  sailor, 
"  has  turned  out  a  regular  sneak-thief.  The  others 
began  to  miss  things  —  money  and  cuff-links,  and 
trifles  like  that  —  and  one  day  the  colonel  caught 
him  in  his  room  pocketing  a  gold  watch.  I  believe 
the  poor  beggar  was  hard  up  —  at  least  so  my  corre- 
spondent says." 

63 


64  Hemming,   the  Adventurer 

At  this  point  he  noticed  the  pallor  of  Hemming's 
face. 

"  Not  a  friend  of  yours,  I  hope,"  he  added,  hastily. 

"  Far  from  it,  but  he  is  related  to  some  people  I 
know  very  well,"  replied  Hemming. 

"  He  was  a  low  cur,  even  before  he  turned  thief," 
said  the  talkative  sailor,  "  and  Jones  tells  me  he 
fleeced  an  awfully  decent,  but  stupid  sort  of  chap  —  " 
He  came  to  a  full  stop,  and  glared  blankly  at  his 
new-found  acquaintance. 

"  Thank  you,"  laughed  Hemming,  who  had  re- 
gained his  composure  as  the  navy  man  lost  his. 

"  Ah  —  damn  silly  break,  wasn't  it?  "  gabbled  the 
other,  turning  to  O'Rourke,  "  but  you  two'll  come 
aboard  to-morrow,  and  have  lunch  with  us.  One- 
thirty,  and  there's  a  turtle  in  the  pot."  He  left  the 
club  without  waiting  for  an  answer. 

Hemming  and  O'Rourke  had  made  the  voyage 
from  Honduras  to  Kingston  in  a  fifty-foot  schooner. 
For  passage-money  they  had  handed  over  the  two 
mules,  together  with  the  residue  of  their  provisions. 
Things  are  not  as  cheap  as  they  look  in  Central 
America.  O'Rourke  had  navigated  the  vessel,  for 
the  owner  had  proved  himself  useless,  and  Hemming 
had  hauled  on  sheets  and  halyards  and  worked  the 
antiquated  pump.  But  in  time  they  had  arrived 
safely  in  Kingston,  and  never  had  hot  water  and 


Hemming  Hears  of  the  Villain        65 

clean  food  felt  and  tasted  so  good.  Hemming  had 
mailed  his  "  copy,"  O'Rourke  had  gone  to  a  tailor ; 
and  now  they  lived  at  ease,  and  awaited  checks  and 
letters  from  the  North.  The  friendship  of  these  two 
had  been  an  assured  thing  from  the  moment  of  their 
first  meeting,  in  the  chart-room  of  the  Laura,  and 
it  had  grown  steadily  with  every  adventure  and 
hardship  in  common.  They  respected  each  other's 
dauntless  spirits  and  literary  styles.  Hemming  ad- 
mired O'Rourke's  cheerful  heart,  and  his  faculty 
(almost  amounting  to  genius)  for  getting  out  of 
tight  places.  He  also  liked  his  manners,  and  envied 
him  the  length  of  his  limbs.  O'Rourke,  in  his  turn, 
admired  his  comrade's  knowledge  of  things  in  gen- 
eral, and  the  way  in  which  he  kept  quiet  about  in- 
cidents in  his  past,  without  sulkiness.  He  liked 
his  hasty,  forgiving  temper,  and  felt  an  almost  per- 
sonal anger  toward  whatever,  or  whoever,  had  em- 
bittered his  life;  and  he  considered  him  as  well 
set-up  a  middleweight  as  he  had  ever  seen.  From 
O'Rourke,  Hemming  learned  to  do  things  for  him- 
self —  little  things  like  rolling  a  blanket,  frying 
bacon,  and  pitching  a  tent.  In  the  past  there  had 
always  been  a  Mr.  Thomas  Atkins  to  look  after 
such  trifles.  Also  he  learned  that  no  knowledge 
comes  amiss  to  a  roving  newspaper  man,  from  the 
science  of  navigation  to  the  art  of  sewing  on  patches, 


66  Hemming,  the  Adventurer 

and  the  low  occupation  of  grooming  a  mule.  He 
realized  how  much  more  comfortable  his  life  in  the 
army,  and  his  travelling  in  Greece  and  Turkey 
would  have  been,  had  he  been  able  to  turn  his  own 
hand  to  the  things  other  people  had  left  undone. 
His  heart  warmed  toward  his  instructor.  One 
night,  while  they  were  smoking  on  the  veranda  of 
their  hotel,  and  looking  away  at  the  lights  in  the 
harbour,  he  told  a  little  of  his  story  —  something  of 
Penthouse,  and  something  of  the  girl  he  loved.  But 
he  did  not  mention  her  name,  and,  much  to  his 
relief,  O'Rourke  did  not  seem  curious  about  it.  That 
was  one  of  O'Rourke's  most  comfortable  character- 
istics. It  was  really  a  matter  of  breeding.  He  was 
deeply  interested  in  whatever  a  person  chose  to  tell 
him,  and  he  would  put  helpful  questions  which  did 
not  call  for  further  confessions;  but  he  never  tried 
to  draw  a  man.  One  might  safely  tell  him  that  one's 
grandmother  had  been  a  cannibal,  without  fear  of 
being  asked  any  question  concerning  one's  grand- 
father. If  he  really  wanted  to  know,  he  would  go 
quietly  to  some  one  else  for  the  information. 

Shortly  after  arriving  in  Jamaica,  Hemming 
wrote  a  letter  to  Anderson,  his  particular  friend  in 
the  Engineers.  He  mentioned  having  heard  of  Pent- 
house's outbreak,  but  said  nothing  of  the  occur- 
rences of  his  last  visit  to  London.  He  told,  at  a 


Hemming  Hears  of  the  Villain       67 

length  suggestive  of  his  profession,  of  the  trip 
through  Yucatan  and  Honduras,  of  his  new  friend, 
and  of  the  adventurous  passage  from  the  coast  of 
Central  America  to  Kingston.  He  sang  the  praises 
of  a  free  life  and  the  glories  of  the  tropics.  He 
spoke  of  his  success  with  the  syndicate,  and  the 
probability  of  fighting  in  Cuba  in  the  near  future. 
He  tried  hard  to  make  every  line  of  the  letter  echo 
contentment,  knowing  that  Anderson  would,  very 
likely,  retail  its  contents  to  Miss  Travers. 

"  My  God,"  he  said,  "  I  was  fool  enough,  once,  to 
let  her  see  the  wound  she  made,  but  once  is  for  all." 

For  the  remainder  of  the  morning  O'Rourke 
found  him  in  a  low  mood,  and  after  trying,  in  vain, 
to  raise  his  spirits  with  a  new  cigar  as  long  as  a 
riding-boot,  he  smoked  the  weed  himself  and  wrote 
a  ballad  about  pirates  and  blood.  It  was  the  ballad, 
complete  after  an  hour's  work,  that  did  the  business 
for  Hemming.  The  swinging  lines  and  rolling 
phrases,  the  fearful  sea-oaths  and  unexpected 
rhymes  started  him  in  action.  At  first  he  was  not 
sure  whether  he  wanted  to  ride  or  write,  but,  with 
a  little  tactful  persuasion  from  O'Rourke,  decided 
on  the  former.  They  hired  a  couple  of  horses,  went 
to  the  club,  and  drew  several  of  their  friends  of 
H.  M.  S.  Thunderer,  and  rode  for  hours,  lunching 
late,  out  of  town. 


68  Hemming,   the  Adventurer 

One  morning  Hemming  received  a  cablegram 
from  Dodder,  of  the  New  York  Syndicate,  telling 
him  to  stand  ready  for  orders,  and  that  a  letter 
followed.  In  a  few  days  the  letter  came.  It  was 
a  friendly,  though  businesslike  epistle,  and  con- 
tained a  check.  It  ran  as  follows : 

"  MY  DEAR  CAPTAIN  HEMMING  :  —  Your  stories 
reached  me,  and  were  immediately  set  up  and  dis- 
tributed broadcast.  They  please  me,  as  does  all  your 
work.  I  got  a  check  from  Wells  for  the  amount  of 
two  months'  expenses  (at  the  rate  we  agreed  upon), 
and  your  salary,  up  to  date,  has  been  marked  to 
your  credit.  I  believe  there  will  be  trouble  in  Europe 
before  long,  and  we  hear  that  Devlin,  of  whom  I 
spoke  to  you,  is  down  with  some  sort  of  fever.  Be 
prepared  to  start  East  at  the  shortest  notice,  and 
please  look  up  some  one,  an  experienced  man,  of 
course,  to  keep  an  eye  on  Cuba  for  us,  should  you 
have  to  leave.  A  man  who  knows  the  country,  and 
is  immune  from  yellow  fever,  would  be  of  more 
value  than  an  experienced  journalist.  We  have 
journalists  here,  but  I  fear  they  would  fall  down 
on  the  job.  I  do  not  believe  the  Cuban  affair  will 
ever  come  to  more  than  skirmishing,  but  even  that 
is  interesting  when  it  happens  at  our  own  back  door. 


Hemming  Hears  of  the  Villain       69 

No  mail  has  come  to  us  for  you.    Please  write  us  if 
you  know  of  a  man. 

"  Yours  very  sincerely, 

"  WASHINGTON  DODDER,  Manager." 

Hemming  read  it  to  O'Rourke. 

"  Will  you  accept  the  job  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  Yes,  when  some  one  lands  an  invading  army, 
but  not  before,"  replied  O'Rourke.  "  Fact  is,  I'm 
afraid  to  sneak  into  the  place  again.  The  Spaniards 
know  me  too  well.  I've  run  away  with  Gomez  and 
I've  retreated  with  Garcia,  and  I've  had  quite  enough 
of  it.  But  if  you  have  to  leave  and  I  can't  get  a 
chance  to  go  along  with  you,  I'll  keep  my  eye  on 
things,  and  do  what  a  man  can.  I  can  at  least  send 
them  some  photographs  of  starving  women  and 
babies  with  distended  tummies.  I  notice,  by  the  mag- 
azines, that  the  popular  fancy  is  turning  toward 
sweet  pictures  of  that  kind,  and,  as  luck  would  have 
it,  I  indulged  in  photography  last  time  I  was  there, 
and  the  films  happened  to  be  in  my  pocket  when  John 
and  I  sailed  away." 

Thus  did  Bertram  St.  Ives  O'Rourke,  the  free- 
lance who  hated  to  move  or  stay  at  any  man's  bid- 
ding, fetter  himself  with  the  chain  of  duty,  and 
become  the  servant  of  a  great  syndicate.  But  for 
weeks  he  did  not  feel  the  chain,  but  made  merry 


70  Hemming,  the  Adventurer 

with  sailors  and  landsmen,  and  did  inspired  work 
for  Griffin's  Magazine.  At  last  word  came  to  Hem- 
ming, calling  him  to  the  East  to  report  the  actions 
of  the  wily  Turk  and  courageous  Greek,  and, 
after  putting  his  friend  aboard  the  mail-boat, 
O'Rourke  sat  down  and  grappled  the  fact  of  his 
own  responsibilities.  After  due  consideration  he 
wrote  to  the  syndicate,  explained  his  position,  men- 
tioned his  past  efforts  in  Cuba,  and  promised  some 
interesting  cables  if  they  would  send  him  enough 
money  to  charter  a  tug.  To  his  amazement  (his 
name  carried  more  weight  than  he  knew)  they  wired 
the  money  and  told  him  to  go  ahead. 

Thus  it  happened  that  within  eight  days  of  one 
another's  departure,  and  after  an  intimate  and  affec- 
tionate friendship,  Herbert  Hemming  sailed  for  one 
battle-field  and  Bertram  St.  Ives  O'Rourke  for  an- 
other, and  one  stout  gentleman  in  New  York  paid 
all  the  pipers. 


CHAPTER    VII. 

AN    ELDERLY    CHAMPION 

WHILE  Herbert  Hemming  tried  to  ease  the  bitter- 
ness of  his  heart  and  forget  the  injustice  that  had 
been  done  him,  in  new  scenes  and  amid  new  com- 
panions, Miss  Travers  suffered  at  home.  Her  lover 
had  scarcely  left  the  house  before  misgivings  tore 
her.  Now,  alone  and  shaken  with  grief,  she  saw 
upon  what  treasonable  foundation  she  had  accused  an 
honourable  man  of  —  she  hardly  knew  what.  Why 
had  he  listened  to  her?  Why  had  he  not  laughed, 
and  kissed  away  her  awful,  hysterical  foolishness? 
Then  she  remembered  how  she  had  repulsed  his 
caress,  and  there  in  the  narrow,  heavily  furnished 
drawing-room  she  leaned  her  head  upon  her  arms 
and  prayed. 

Half  an  hour  later  she  was  startled  by  the  ringing 
of  the  door-bell,  and  hastened  to  her  own  room. 

The  caller  was  an  elderly  bachelor  brother  of  her 
mother's  —  a  man  with  a  small  income,  a  taste  for 
bridge,  and  tongue  and  ears  for  gossip.  His  visits 

71 


72  Hemming,  the  Adventurer 

were  always  welcome  to  Mrs.  Travers.  Mrs. 
Travers  was  a  stout  lady  much  given  to  family 
prayers,  scandal,  and  disputes  with  servants.  As  the 
widow  of  a  bishop  she  felt  that  she  filled,  in  the 
being  of  the  nation,  a  somewhat  similar  position 
to  that  occupied  by  Westminster  Abbey.  She  doted 
on  all  those  in  temporal  and  spiritual  authority, 
almost  to  the  inclusion  of  curates  and  subalterns, 
—  if  they  had  expectations.  Once  upon  a  time,  see- 
ing nothing  larger  in  sight  for  her  daughter,  she 
had  been  Herbert  Hemming's  motherly  friend. 
Then  she  had  heard  from  Mr.  Penthouse  (who  was 
poor  and  dissipated,  and  might  some  day  become 
a  baronet)  that  Hemming's  fortune  was  not  nearly 
so  large  as  people  supposed.  At  first  she  had  watched 
the  change  in  her  daughter,  under  Penthouse's  in- 
fluence, with  vague  alarm;  but  a  suspicion  of  more 
eligible  suitors  in  the  offing  stilled  her  fears.  The 
hints  which  her  pleasing  nephew  brought  to  her,  of 
Hemming's  double  life,  inflamed  her  righteous  anger 
against  the  quiet  captain.  Had  her  daughter's  lover 
been  the  master  of  five  thousand  a  year  she  would 
have  admonished  Penthouse  to  keep  silence  concern- 
ing the  affairs  of  his  superiors.  As  it  was,  she 
thought  her  righteous  indignation  quite  genuine,  for 
few  people  of  her  kind  know  the  full  extent  of  their 
respectable  wickedness.  Then  had  come  news, 


An  Elderly   Champion  73 

through  her  daughter,  of  Hemming's  retirement 
from  the  army  and  entrance  into  journalism.  Molly 
had  mentioned  it,  very  quietly,  one  morning  at 
breakfast.  Then  had  come  Hemming  himself,  and 
with  vast  satisfaction  she  had  heard  him  leave  the 
house  without  any  bright  laughter  at  the  door.  And 
just  as  she  had  determined  to  descend  and  soothe 
Molly  with  words  of  pious  comfort,  her  brother  had 
arrived. 

Mrs.  Travers  heard  Molly  go  to  her  room  and 
close  the  door.  She  decided  that  charity  would  keep 
better  than  Mr.  Pollin's  gossip,  so  she  descended  to 
the  drawing-room  as  fast  as  her  weight  would  allow. 
They  shook  hands  cordially;  after  which  Mr.  Pol- 
lin  stood  respectfully  until  his  sister  got  safely  de- 
posited in  the  strongest  chair  in  the  room. 

Mr.  Pollin  was  a  gossip,  as  I  have  previously 
stated,  but  many  of  his  stories  were  harmless.  He 
dressed  in  the  height  of  fashion,  and,  in  spite  of  his 
full  figure,  carried  himself  jauntily.  In  his  youth 
(before  he  had  come  in  for  his  modest  property,  and 
mastered  whist)  he  had  studied  law,  and  it  was 
rumoured  that  he  had  even  tried  to  write  scholarly 
articles  and  book  reviews  for  the  daily  press.  At 
one  stage  in  his  career  his  sister  and  the  late  bishop 
had  really  trembled  for  his  respectability;  but  their 
fears  had  proved  to  be  unfounded,  for,  lacking  en- 


74  Hemming,  the  Adventurer 

couragement  from  the  editors,  Mr.  Pollin  had  settled 
down  to  unbroken  conventionality.  Mr.  Pollin's 
features  resembled  his  sister's,  but  his  mouth  was 
more  given  to  smiling,  and  his  eyes  held  a  twinkle, 
while  hers  were  dimly  lit  with  a  gleam  of  cold 
calculation. 

To-day  Mr.  Pollin  had  quite  unexpected  news,  at 
first-hand  from  an  Irish  acquaintance  of  his,  a  Major 
O'Grady.  But  he  did  not  blurt  it  out,  as  a  lesser 
gossip  would  have  done. 

"  Have  you  seen  Harry  Penthouse  lately  ?  "  he 
asked. 

"  Not  for  two  days,"  said  the  lady. 

Mr.  Pollin  crossed  his  knees  with  an  effort,  and 
tried  to  look  over  his  waistcoat  at  his  polished  boots. 

"  He  returns  to  his  regiment  shortly,"  added  Mrs. 
Travers. 

Her  brother  coughed  gently,  and  scrutinized  the 
ring  on  his  finger  with  an  intensity  that  seemed  quite 
uncalled  for. 

"  What  is  the  matter  ?  "  cried  the  lady,  breathless 
with  the  suspense. 

"  Nothing,  my  dear,  although  I  hardly  envy 
Harry.  I'm  afraid  he  will  find  his  regiment  a  rather 
uncomfortable  place,"  replied  Pollin. 

"  Do  you  mean  the  regiment,  or  his  quarters, 
Richard?" 


An  Elderly  Champion  75 

"  His  quarters  are  comfortable  enough  for  a  better 
man,"  replied  the  elderly  dandy,  with  a  slight  ring 
of  emotion  in  his  voice. 

"  Richard,"  exclaimed  the  dame,  "  what  are  you 
hinting  about  your  nephew  ?  " 

"  No  nephew  of  mine,"  replied  the  other,  "  nor 
even  of  yours,  I  think.  Poor  Charles  and  old  Sir 
Peter  were  first  cousins,  were  they  not  ?  " 

"  But  they  were  just  like  brothers,"  she  urged. 

"  It's  a  pity  young  Penthouse  hadn't  been  spanked 
more  in  his  early  youth,"  remarked  Mr.  Pollin. 

Mrs.  Travers  began  to  feel  decidedly  uneasy. 
Could  it  be  that  Harry  had,  in  some  way,  forfeited 
his  chances  of  the  estate  and  title?  Could  it  be  that 
the  invalid  brother,  the  unsociable,  close-fisted  one, 
had  married?  But  she  did  not  put  the  questions. 

"What  rash  thing  has  the  young  man  done?" 
she  inquired. 

"  Nothing  rash,  but  something  dashed  low,"  an- 
swered her  brother.  "  To-day,"  he  continued,  "  I 
received  a  letter  from  a  gentleman  whom  it  appears 
I've  met  several  times  in  the  country,  Major 
O'Grady,  of  the  Seventy-Third.  He  has  evidently 
quite  forgotten  the  fact  that  I  am  in  any  way  con- 
nected with  Harry  Penthouse,  or  interested  in  Her- 
bert Hemming,  and  after  several  pages  of  reference 
to  some  exciting  rubbers  we  have  had  together  (I 


76  Hemming,  the  Adventurer 

really  cannot  recall  them  to  mind),  he  casually  tells 
me  the  inner  history  of  Hemming's  leaving  the 
service." 

"  Ah,  I  thought  so,"  sighed  Mrs.  Travers. 

"  Thought  what,  my  dear  sister  ?  "  asked  Pollin, 
shortly. 

The  good  lady  was  somewhat  confused  by  the 
abruptness  of  her  brother's  manner,  and  her  guard 
was  forgotten. 

"  That  the  inner  history,"  she  replied,  "  is  that 
Captain  Hemming  was  requested  to  resign  his  com- 
mission." 

"  You  have  jumped  the  wrong  way,  Cordelia," 
said  the  gentleman,  with  a  disconcerting  smile,  "  for 
the  regiment,  from  the  colonel  to  the  newest  subal- 
tern, and  from  the  sergeant-major  to  the  youngest 
bugler,  are,  figuratively  speaking,  weeping  over  his 
departure." 

Mrs.  Travers  seemed  to  dwindle  in  her  chair. 
"Then  why  did  he  retire?"  she  asked,  in  a  thin 
whisper. 

"  Because  Harry  Penthouse  wolfed  all  his  money. 
At  first  he  borrowed  a  hundred  or  so,  and  lost  it 
gambling.  Hemming  got  a  bit  shy,  but  thought. 
of  course,  that  some  day  it  would  all  be  paid  back. 
He  wanted  to  help  the  boy,  so,  after  a  good  deal 
of  persuasion,  endorsed  his  note  for  a  large  sum, 


An  Elderly  Champion  77 

and  the  note  was  cashed  by  a  Jew  who  had  helped 
Penthouse  before.  The  Jew  was  honest,  but  he  came 
a  cropper  himself,  and  could  not  afford  to  renew 
the  note.  Penthouse  had  only  enough  left  to 
carry  him  stylishly  over  his  two  months'  leave,  so 
Hemming  had  to  stump  up.  O'Grady  says  he  didn't 
get  so  much  as  a  '  Thank  you '  from  the  young 
bounder." 

For  several  minutes  the  lady  kept  a  stunned 
silence.  Presently  she  braced  herself,  and  laughed 
unmusically. 

"  I  have  heard  a  very  different  story,"  she  said, 
"  and  I  believe  from  a  better  authority  than  this 
Major  O'Brady." 

"  O'Grady,"  corrected  Pollin,  "  and  a  very  dear 
friend  of  mine  —  cousin  to  Sir  Brian  O'Grady." 

The  good  fellow's  imagination  was  getting  the 
bit  in  its  teeth  by  this  time,  and  his  mind  was  turn- 
ing toward  the  quiet  of  his  club,  and  a  nip  of  some- 
thing before  dinner. 

"  You  have  your  choice  between  Major  O'Grady's 
story  and  Harry  Penthouse's,"  said  the  lady. 

"  And  I  choose  O'Grady's,"  replied  the  gentleman, 
"  because  I  know  Penthouse  and  I  know  Herbert, 
Herbert  is  a  good  soldier  and  a  good  sort,  and  Harrj, 
is  a  damned  overgrown,  overfed  cad." 


78  Hemming,  the  Adventurer 

He  stole  away  without  farewell,  abashed  and  sur- 
prised at  his  own  heat  and  breach  of  etiquette. 

After  her  brother's  departure  Mrs.  Travers 
sought  her  daughter.  She  wanted  to  know  all  the 
particulars  of  Hemming's  visit. 

"  It  is  all  over  between  us,"  sobbed  the  girl,  and 
beyond  that  she  could  learn  nothing.  Having  failed 
to  receive  information,  she  immediately  began  to 
impart  some,  and  told  what  Mr.  Pollin  had  heard 
from  Major  O'Grady.  Molly,  who  lay  on  the  bed, 
kept  her  face  buried  in  the  pillow,  and  showed  no 
signs  of  hearing  anything.  At  last  her  mother  left 
her,  after  saying  that  she  would  send  her  dinner  up 
to  her.  The  bewildered  woman  had  never  felt  quite 
so  put  about  since  the  death  of  the  lord  bishop. 
Could  it  be,  she  wondered,  that  she  had  made  a 
mistake  in  encouraging  Harry  Penthouse's  work 
tearing  down  Molly's  belief  in  Hemming?  Even 
her  dinner  did  not  altogether  reassure  her  troubled 
spirit. 

Several  days  later  Miss  Travers  wrote  to  Hem- 
ming. It  contained  only  a  line  or  two.  It  begged 
his  forgiveness.  It  called  him  to  return  and  let  her 
show  her  love.  She  sent  it  to  his  old  address  in 
Dublin,  and  in  the  corner  wrote  "  Please  forward." 

Now  it  happened  that  Private  Malloy,  who  had 
once  been  Captain  Hemming's  orderly,  was  sent  one 


An  Elderly  Champion  79 

day,  by  a  sergeant,  for  the  officers'  mail.  He  thought 
himself  a  sly  man,  did  Mr.  Malloy,  and  when  he 
found  a  letter  addressed  to  his  late  beloved  master, 
in  a  familiar  handwriting,  he  decided  that  it  was 
from  "  one  of  them  dunnin'  Jews,"  and  carefully 
separated  it  from  the  pile.  Later  he  burned  it. 
"  One  good  turn  deserves  another,"  said  he,  watch- 
ing the  thin  paper  flame  and  fade. 

Penthouse  returned  to  his  regiment  without  call- 
ing again  on  Molly  and  Mrs.  Travers.  Somehow, 
after  the  beating  he  had  received,  he  did  not  feel 
like  showing  his  face  anywhere  in  town.  Day  after 
day  Molly  waited  for  an  answer  to  her  letter.  By  this 
time  she  had  heard,  from  Captain  Anderson  (who 
had  acted  nervously  during  his  short  call),  of  Hem- 
ming's  intention  of  going  immediately  to  Greece. 
So  for  two  weeks  she  waited  hopefully.  Then  the 
horrible  fear  that  she  had  hurt  him  beyond  pardon- 
ing, perhaps  even  disgusted  him,  grew  upon  her. 
But  for  more  than  a  month  every  brisk  footfall  on 
the  pavement  and  every  ring  at  the  door-bell  set  her 
heart  burning  and  left  it  throbbing  with  pain. 

When  she  drove  with  her  mother  she  scanned 
the  faces  of  the  men  in  the  street,  and  often  and 
often  she  changed  colour  at  sight  of  a  thin,  alert 
face  or  broad,  gallant  shoulders  in  the  crowd. 

Captain  Anderson  was  at  Aldershot  when  he  re- 


8o  Hemming,  the  Adventurer 

ceived  his  friend's  letter  from  Jamaica.  He  went 
up  to  town  and  called  on  Miss  Travers,  and,  without 
so  much  as  "  by  your  leave,"  read  her  extracts  from 
the  letter.  She  listened  quietly,  with  downcast  eyes 
and  white  face.  When  he  was  through  with  it  she 
looked  at  him  kindly ;  but  her  eyes  were  dim. 

"Why  do  you  taunt  me?"  she  asked.  "Is  it 
because  you  are  his  friend  ?  "  The  smile  that  fol- 
lowed the  question  was  not  a  happy  one. 

The  sapper's  honest  face  flamed  crimson.  "  I 
thought  you  wanted  to  know  about  him,"  he  stam- 
mered. 

"  Of  course  I  am  glad  to  hear  that  he  is  so  suc- 
cessful —  and  so  happy,"  she  replied,  and  her  mouth 
took  on  a  hardness  strange  and  new  to  it.  She 
remembered  the  passionate  appeal  in  her  own  letter 
—  the  cry  of  love  that  had  awakened  no  answering 
cry  —  and  her  pride  and  anger  set  to  work  to  tear 
the  dreams  from  her  heart.  But  a  dream  built  by 
the  Master  Workman,  of  stuffs  lighter  than  the 
wind,  outlasts  the  heavy  walls  of  kings'  monuments. 


CHAPTER   VIII. 

HEMMING    UNDERTAKES    A    DIGNIFIED    WORK 

HEMMING  went  through  the  Turko-Grecian  cam- 
paign from  beginning  to  end,  with  much  credit  to 
himself  and  profit  to  the  syndicate.  He  worked 
hard,  and,  on  occasions,  risked  life  and  limb.  No 
word  of  legitimate  news  of  actions  got  out  of  the 
country  ahead  of  his.  When  the  fighting  was  over, 
he  wrote  a  careful  article  on  the  uselessness  of  the 
sword  in  modern  battles.  He  described  the  few 
occasions  in  which  he  had  seen  a  blooded  sword  in 
action.  He  damned  them  all  —  the  pointed  blade 
of  the  infantry  officer,  and  the  cutting  sabre  of  the 
cavalry  trooper.  They  would  do  for  hill  raids,  or 
charges  against  savages,  but  before  the  steady  fire 
of  men  on  foot,  armed  with  rifles  of  the  latest  pat- 
tern, they  were  hopeless.  Their  day  had  passed 
with  the  passing  of  the  ramrod,  he  said.  After 
heading  it  "  Cold  Steel  in  Modern  Warfare,"  he 
decided  that  it  would  be  a  pity  to  waste  it  on  the 
New  York  News  Syndicate;  for  of  late  he  had 

81 


82  Hemming,  the  Adventurer 

become  dissatisfied  with  his  arrangements  with  the 
syndicate.  He  had  found  that,  out  of  the  dozen 
or  more  war-correspondents  whom  he  had  met  dur- 
ing the  campaign,  only  two  were  allowed  so  small 
a  sum  as  he  for  expenses,  and  not  one  was  paid  so 
small  a  salary.  So  he  mailed  his  wise  story  to  a 
big  London  weekly,  and  wrote  to  Dodder  for  a  raise 
in  his  salary  and  expenses.  At  this  time  he  was 
living  quietly  in  Athens,  with  a  number  of  friends, 
—  merry  fellows,  all,  —  but  he  missed  O'Rourke's 
whimsical  conversations  and  kindly  comradeship. 

The  big  London  weekly  published  Hemming's 
article,  and  commented  upon  it  editorially.  It  also 
sent  him  a  modest  check  —  more  modest  than  its 
size  and  reputation  would  lead  one  to  suppose.  Mr. 
Dodder's  letter  arrived  at  about  the  same  time.  The 
manager  of  the  syndicate  was  firm,  though  gentle. 
He  pointed  out  that  already  Hemming  drew  more 
money  than  any  other  correspondent  connected  with 
the  concern.  He  explained  that,  even  now,  Mr. 
Wells  frequently  grumbled.  "  And  after  all,"  he 
concluded,  "  you  are  a  new  man,  and  we  are  helping 
you  to  a  reputation." 

"  We'll  see  about  that,"  said  Hemming,  and  wrote 
to  say  that  he  would  like  to  take  a  holiday  until 
more  fighting  turned  up.  He  sent  them  his  address 
for  the  next  six  months  —  Maidmill  -  on  -  Dee, 


Undertakes  a  Dignified  Work       83 

Cheshire,  England.  Then  he  sold  his  horse,  packed 
his  things,  and  sailed  for  England. 

At  Maidmill-on-Dee,  in  a  stone  cottage  with  a 
slated  roof,  lived  an  old  couple  named  Thomson. 
During  the  brief  married  life  of  Hemming's  parents, 
these  two  good  folk  had  looked  after  their  bodily 
welfare  —  Thomson  as  gardener  and  groom,  and 
Mrs.  Thomson  as  cook.  Hemming's  father,  though 
well  connected,  had  made  his  livelihood  as  a  country 
doctor.  The  people  in  Maidmill-on-Dee  still  re- 
membered him  as  a  handsome,  generous  man  with 
the  manner  of  a  lord  lieutenant  of  the  county,  and 
with  always  a  good  horse  in  his  stables.  Hemming's 
mother  had  been  the  daughter  of  a  scholarly,  though 
poor,  country  vicar.  She  had  been  a  beauty  in  a 
frail,  white  way,  and  a  lover  of  her  husband,  her 
home,  and  good  literature.  When  the  doctor  had 
died  of  blood-poisoning,  contracted  during  a  simple 
operation  upon  one  of  his  many  poor  patients,  she 
had  tried,  for  awhile,  to  take  heart  again,  but  had 
followed  him  within  a  year.  After  the  deaths  of  the 
parents  a  wealthy  relative  had  remembered  the  son, 
and,  finding  him  a  youth  of  promise,  had  given  him 
some  money. 

Hemming  drove  from  the  station  in  the  public 
bus.  He  passed  the  house  where  so  much  of  his 
earlier  years  had  been  spent,  and  told  the  driver 


84  Hemming,  the  Adventurer 

to  take  him  to  Joseph  Thomson's.  They  rattled 
down  the  quiet,  single  street,  and  drew  up  at  the 
stone  threshold.  He  helped  the  driver  pile  his  bags 
and  boxes  beside  the  door.  Then  he  dismissed  the 
conveyance,  and  paused  for  awhile  before  entering 
the  cottage,  with  a  warm,  new  feeling  of  home- 
coming in  his  heart.  The  low,  wide  kitchen  was 
unoccupied,  but  the  door  leading  to  the  garden  be- 
hind stood  open.  He  sat  down  in  a  well-worn  chair 
and  looked  about.  The  October  sunlight  lit  up  the 
dishes  on  the  dresser.  A  small  table  by  a  window 
was  laid  with  plates  and  cups  for  two.  He  heard 
voices  in  the  garden.  A  woman,  stout  and  gray- 
haired,  entered  with  a  head  of  Brussels  sprouts  in 
her  hand,  and  with  her  cotton  skirt  kilted  up,  dis- 
playing a  bright,  quilted  petticoat.  Hemming  got  up 
from  his  chair,  but  she  was  not  looking  toward  him, 
and  she  was  evidently  hard  of  hearing.  He  stepped 
in  front  of  her  and  laid  his  hands  on  her  shoulders. 

"  Susan,"  he  said,  beaming. 

"  Lor',  Master  Bert,"  she  exclaimed,  "  you're  still 
at  your  tricks." 

In  a  flutter  of  delight  she  smacked  him  squarely 
on  the  mouth,  and  then,  blushing  and  trembling, 
begged  his  pardon. 

"  I  can't  think  you're  a  grown-up  man,"  she  ex- 
plained. She  surveyed  him  at  arm's  length. 


Undertakes  a  Dignified  Work       85 

"  You're  not  overly  big,"  she  said,  "  an'  that's 
a  fact.  But  you're  surprisin'  thick  through  the  chest 
and  wide  i'  the  shoulders.  An'  who'd  ever  have 
looked  for  Master  Bert,  all  so  suddent,  i'  Maidmill- 
on-Dee." 

By  this  time  she  was  in  a  fair  way  to  burst  into 
tears,  so  fast  were  the  old  memories  crowding  upon 
her.  Hemming  feared  tears  more  than  the  devil, 
and,  patting  her  violently  on  the  back,  forced  her 
into  a  chair. 

"  There,  Susan,  there.  Now  keep  cool  and  fire 
low,  and  tell  me  what  you  are  going  to  have  for 
lunch?"  he  urged. 

"  Thomson,"  she  called,  "  there  is  a  gentleman 
here  as  wants  to  see  you." 

"  Bes  there,  now  ?  "  said  Thomson,  and  rubbed 
his  hands  on  his  smock. 

"  Never  mind  your  hands,"  she  called. 

Thomson  scraped  his  heavy  way  into  the  kitchen, 
and  blinked  at  the  visitor. 

"  Howde,  sir,"  he  remarked,  affably. 

"  How  are  you,  Thomson  ?  Glad  to  see  you 
again,"  said  Hemming,  extending  his  hand. 

The  old  gardener  gave  back  a  step,  with  a  slight 
cry  and  an  uptossing  of  gnarled  hands. 

He  recovered  himself  with  an  effort. 

"  God   bless   me,   it's   Master   Herbert,"   he   ex- 


86  Hemming,  the  Adventurer 

claimed.  "  Do  you  know,  missus,  I  thought  it  was 
the  doctor  askin'  how  I  was,"  he  continued,  turning 
to  his  wife,  "  but  the  master  was  a  more  sizable 
man,  —  yes,  an'  redder  i'  the  face." 

"  Ay,"  replied  Mrs.  Thomson,  "  but  hansome  is 
as  hansome  does  —  meanin'  nothin'  disrespectful 
about  the  old  master,  God  bless  his  memory,  dear 
man,  —  and  Master  Bert  is  a  fine  appearin'  young 
gentleman." 

The  gaffer  nodded.  "  The  lasses  wud  believe  you, 
missus,"  he  said. 

"  What  lasses  do  you  mean  ?  "  inquired  the  old 
woman,  sharply.  "  Where's  the  lass  i'  this  village 
fit  to  believe  anything  about  one  o'  the  queen's 
officers  —  tell  me  that." 

"  Ay,  I  was  sayin'  nothin',"  replied  Thomson. 

The  woman  looked  quizzically  at  Hemming. 

"  Like  enough  there's  a  young  lady  in  Lunnon," 
she  suggested. 

"  There  is  no  young  lady  —  anywhere,"  said 
Hemming,  "  and  I'm  no  longer  in  the  army.  I'm 
at  another  trade  now." 

"Trade?"  exclaimed  Thomson. 

"Well,  hardly  that,"  laughed  Hemming.  "I 
write  for  a  living." 

Mrs.  Thomson  nodded  with  satisfaction. 

"  The  queen's  son-in-law  wrote  a  book,"  she  said. 


Undertakes  a  Dignified  Work       87 

"  I  hardly  do  that  kind,"  said  Hemming,  un- 
easily. 

"  I  vum  you  don't,  sir,"  cried  the  man,  whacking 
the  table,  "  not  if  the  missus  means  the  book  she 
read  to  me  out  of,  oncet." 

Hemming  was  pleased  with  the  old  man's  shrewd- 
ness, though  Mrs.  Thomson  was  shocked  at  his 
insinuations. 

Hemming  settled  down  in  the  cottage,  much  to 
the  delight  of  the  old  couple.  A  fair-sized  room 
on  the  ground  floor  was  given  over  to  him,  for 
bedroom  and  study.  The  success  of  his  last  article 
had  suggested  to  him  the  writing  of  a  book  about 
what  he  knew,  and  had  seen,  of  the  last  brief  cam- 
paign —  something  more  lasting  than  his  syndicate 
work,  and  more  carefully  done.  This  work  would 
have  colour,  not  too  heavily  splashed  on ;  style,  not 
too  aggressive;  and  dignity  befitting  the  subject. 
He  decided  that  he  must  prune  his  newspaper  style 
considerably  for  the  book.  So  he  settled  down  to 
his  work,  and  after  three  days'  honest  labour,  all  that 
stood  of  it  was  the  title,  "  Where  Might  Is  Right." 
Strange  to  say,  this  seeming  failure  did  not  dis- 
courage him.  He  knew  what  he  had  to  say,  and 
felt  that  as  soon  as  the  right  note  for  the  expres- 
sion of  it  was  struck,  it  would  be  easy  to  go  on. 
The  pages  he  so  ruthlessly  destroyed  were  splendid 


Hemming,  the  Adventurer 


newspaper  copy,  but  he  knew  the  objection  thinking 
men  have  to  finding  newspaper  work  between  the 
covers  of  a  book.  But  at  last  the  opening  chapter 
was  done  to  his  taste;  and  after  that  the  work  was 
easy  and  pleasant.  It  soon  became  his  habit  to  get 
out  of  bed  in  time  to  breakfast  with  Thomson,  who 
was  a  thrifty  market-gardener  on  a  small  scale. 
After  his  breakfast  he  smoked  a  cigar  in  the  garden, 
and  sometimes  told  stories  of  his  adventures  to  his 
host.  By  eight  o'clock  he  was  at  his  table,  writing 
rapidly,  but  not  steadily,  until  twelve  o'clock.  After 
the  simple  midday  dinner  he  walked  for  several 
hours,  and  seldom  went  back  to  his  work  until  can- 
dle-time. In  this  way,  with  books  and  magazines 
sent  down  every  week  from  London,  he  managed 
to  put  in  his  time  without  letting  himself  think  too 
often  of  Molly  Travers.  Nothing  in  the  village 
reminded  him  of  her,  and  his  healthy  days  brought 
him,  for  the  most  part,  dreamless  nights. 

The  old  people  were  immensely  interested  in 
Hemming  and  his  work.  They  even  persuaded  him 
to  read  some  of  the  chapters  of  his  book  aloud  to 
them.  It  was  plain  to  Hemming  that  Mrs.  Thom- 
son's signs  of  appreciation  were  matters  more  of 
the  heart  than  the  head ;  but  not  so  with  Thomson. 
He  would  applaud  a  convincing  argument  or  a  well- 
turned  sentence  by  slapping  his  hand  on  his  knee, 


Undertakes  a  Dignified  Work       89 

and  for  hours  after  a  reading  would  sit  by  the  chim- 
ney and  mumble  curses  on  the  heads  of  the  Turks. 
One  morning,  while  Hemming  was  watching  him  at 
his  work,  he  turned  from  the  bonfire  he  had  been 
tending  and,  without  preamble,  grasped  his  lodger's 
hand. 

"  You've  a  power  of  brains  inside  your  head,  sir," 
he  said,  with  vehemence.  Hemming  felt  that,  even 
from  O'Rourke,  he  had  never  received  a  more  pleas- 
ing compliment.  He  rewarded  the  gaffer  with  a 
cigar  from  his  own  case. 

By  Christmas  "  Where  Might  Is  Right  "  was  fin- 
ished, and  posted  to  a  London  publisher.  With  this 
work  done,  restlessness  returned  to  Hemming.  He 
fought  it  off  for  awhile,  but  at  last  packed  a  bag 
with  his  best  clothes,  and,  telling  Mrs.  Thomson  to 
take  care  of  his  letters  until  his  return,  went  up 
to  London.  First  of  all  he  called  on  the  publishers 
to  whom  he  had  sent  his  book.  The  manager  was 
in,  and  received  Hemming  cordially.  He  said  that 
he  had  not  yet  looked  at  Hemming's  manuscript, 
and  that  at  present  it  was  in  town,  having  been  taken 
away  to  a  house-party  by  their  literary  adviser. 
However,  he  had  followed  Captain  Hemming's 
career  as  a  war-correspondent  and  writer  of  army 
stories  with  interest,  and  felt  that  it  was  altogether 
likely  that  the  firm  would  want  to  do  business  with 


go          Hemming,  the  Adventurer 

him.  The  genial  glow  of  the  season  must  have  been 
in  the  gentleman's  blood,  for  he  cordially  invited 
Hemming  to  lunch  with  him  at  his  club.  Upon 
reaching  the  street  Hemming  found  the  fog,  which 
had  been  scarcely  noticeable  a  short  time  before,  was 
rapidly  thickening. 

"  Let  us  walk  —  it  is  but  a  step,"  said  the  pub- 
lisher, "  and  I've  made  the  trip  in  every  kind  of 
weather  for  the  last  twenty  years." 

On  the  steps  of  the  club  Hemming  stumbled 
against  a  crouched  figure.  There  was  a  dull  yellow 
glare  from  the  lamp  above,  and  by  it  Hemming  saw 
the  beggar's  bloated,  hungry  face,  bedraggled  red 
beard,  and  trembling  hand.  The  eyes  were  cunning 
and  desperate,  but  pitiful  just  then.  Hemming 
passed  the  poor  fellow  a  coin,  —  a  two-shilling  piece, 
—  and  followed  his  guide  into  the  warm,  imposing 
hall  of  the  club,  wondering  where  he  had  seen  those 
unscrupulous  eyes  before.  The  club  was  brightly 
lighted.  The  lunch  was  long  and  complicated  and 
very  good.  The  publisher  was  vastly  entertaining, 
and  seemed  in  no  hurry  to  get  back  to  his  work. 
Hemming's  thoughts,  in  spite  of  the  cheer,  busied 
themselves  with  the  beggar  on  the  steps. 

"  Did  you  notice  the  beggar  outside  ?  "  he  asked, 
at  last. 


Undertakes  a  Dignified  Work       91 

"  The  chap  with  the  bushy  beard  ?  —  why,  yes, 
he  is  new  to  this  quarter,"  replied  the  other. 

"  He  was  a  desperate-looking  devil,  and  I  think 
the  beard  was  false,"  remarked  Hemming.  But  as 
his  host  did  not  seem  interested  in  either  the  beggar 
or  his  beard,  the  subject  was  dropped. 

Next  day,  with  an  unnamed  hope  in  his  heart  that 
something  might  happen,  Hemming  passed  the 
Travers  house.  But  the  hope  died  at  sight  of  it, 
for  it  was  clearly  unoccupied.  He  remained  in  town 
a  few  days  longer,  seeking  familiar  faces  in  familiar 
haunts,  and  finding  none  to  his  mind.  He  thought 
it  strange  that  romance,  and  everything  worth  while, 
should  have  deserted  the  great  city  in  so  brief  a 
time.  But,  for  that  matter,  when  he  came  to  think 
of  it,  the  whole  world  had  lost  colour.  He  decided 
that  he  was  growing  old  —  and  perhaps  too  wise. 
After  standing  the  genial  publisher  a  dinner,  and 
receiving  a  promise  of  a  speedy  decision  on  "  Where 
Might  Is  Right,"  he  returned  to  Maidmill-on-Dee,  to 
spend  weary  months  awaiting  rumour  of  war.  At 
last  the  rumour  came,  closely  followed  by  sailing 
orders. 


CHAPTER    IX. 
O'ROURKE  TELLS  A  SAD  STORY 

UPON  his  arrival  in  New  York,  Hemming  called 
immediately  upon  Mr.  Dodder,  in  the  New  York 
News  Syndicate  Building  on  Fulton  Street.  He 
found  the  manager  even  stouter  than  at  the  time 
of  their  first  meeting,  and  of  a  redder  countenance. 
His  manner  was  as  cordial  as  before,  but  his  mood 
was  not  so  jovial. 

"  I  am  always  worrying  about  something  or  other, 
and  just  now  it  is  my  health,"  he  told  Hemming. 
"  You  don't  know  what  I'd  give,  captain,  for  a  life 
like  yours  —  and  a  good  hard  body  like  yours.  But 
I  can't  drop  this  job  now.  It's  the  very  devil,  I 
can  tell  you,  to  have  one's  brain  and  nerves  jumping 
and  twanging  all  the  time,  while  one's  carcass  lolls 
about  and  puts  on  fat.  I'm  sorry  I  was  so  smart 
when  I  was  a  kid.  Otherwise  the  old  man  would 
not  have  sent  me  to  college,  and  I'd  never  have 
hustled  myself  into  this  slavery.  My  father  was  a 

92 


O'Rourke  Tells  a  Sad  Story         93 

lumberman,  and  so  was  my  grandfather.  They  had 
big  bodies,  just  like  mine,  but  they  lived  the  right 
kind  of  lives  for  their  bodies." 

Hemming  felt  sorry  for  him.  He  saw  that  the 
gigantic  body  was  at  strife  with  the  manner  of  life 
to  which  it  was  held,  and  that  the  same  physique  that 
had  proved  itself  a  blessing  to  the  lumberman,  was 
a  menace  to  the  desk-worker. 

"  Better  take  a  few  months  in  the  woods,"  he 
suggested. 

Dodder  laughed  bitterly.  "  You  might  just  as 
well  advise  me  to  take  a  few  months  in  heaven,"  he 
said. 

Hemming  asked  for  news  of  O'Rourke. 

The  manager's  face  lighted. 

"  O'Rourke,"  he  exclaimed,  "  is  a  man  wise  in 
his  generation.  Shackles  of  gold  couldn't  hold  that 
chap  from  his  birthright  of  freedom.  He  did  us 
some  fine  work  for  a  time,  —  rode  with  Gomez  and 
got  his  news  out  somehow  or  other,  —  but  went 
under  with  enteric  and  left  Cuba.  We  kept  him  on, 
of  course,  but  as  soon  as  he  could  move  around 
again  he  resigned  his  position.  He  said  he  had  some 
very  pressing  business  affair  to  see  to." 

"  Is  he  well  again  ?  "  asked  Hemming,  anxiously. 

"  Oh,  yes,  he's  able  to  travel,"  replied  Dodder. 
"  He  was  here  only  a  week  ago.  He  seems  to  be 


94  Hemming,  the  Adventurer 

making  a  tour  of  the  Eastern  cities.  I  guess  he's 
looking  for  something." 

"  An  editor,  likely,  who  has  lost  some  of  his 
manuscripts,"  remarked  Hemming. 

"  Or  a  girl,"  said  the  other. 

"  Why  a  girl  ?  "  asked  the  Englishman. 

Dodder  smiled  pensively.  "  I  like  to  think  so," 
he  said,  "  for  though  I  am  nothing  but  a  corpulent 
business  slave  myself,  I've  a  fine  active  brain  for 
romance,  and  the  heart  of  a  Lochinvar." 

Hemming  nodded  gravely.  Dodder  laughed  at 
him.  "  You  are  thinking  what  a  devilish  big  horse 
I  need,"  he  said. 

They  dined  together  that  evening  at  the  Reform 
Club,  and  Hemming  was  amazed  at  the  quantity  of 
food  the  big  man  consumed.  He  had  seen  O'Rourke, 
the  long,  lean,  and  broad,  sit  up  to  some  hearty  meals 
after  a  day  in  the  saddle,  but  never  had  he  met 
with  an  appetite  like  Dodder's.  It  was  the  appetite 
of  his  ancestral  lumbermen,  changed  a  little  in  taste, 
perhaps,  but  the  same  in  vigour. 

War  was  in  order  between  the  United  States  of 
America  and  Spain.  General  Shafter's  army  was 
massing  in  Tampa,  Florida,  and  Hemming,  with 
letters  from  the  syndicate,  started  for  Washington 
to  procure  a  pass  from  the  War  Office.  But  on  the 
night  before  his  departure  from  New  York  came 


O'Rourke  Tells  a  Sad  Story         95 

news  from  London  of  his  book,  and  the  first  batch 
of  proof-sheets  for  correction.  He  worked  until  far 
into  the  morning1,  and  mailed  the  proofs,  together 
with  a  letter,  before  breakfast.  Arriving  in  Wash- 
ington, he  went  immediately  to  the  War  Depart- 
ment building,  and  handed  in  his  letters.  The  clerk 
returned  and  asked  him  to  follow  to  an  inner  room. 
There  he  found  a  pale  young  man,  with  an  imposing, 
closely  printed  document  in  his  hand. 

"  Captain  Hemming?  "  inquired  the  gentleman. 

Hemming  bowed. 

"  Your  credentials  are  correct,"  continued  the 
official,  "  and  the  Secretary  of  War  has  signed  your 
passport.  Please  put  your  name  here." 

Hemming  signed  his  name  on  the  margin  of  the 
document,  folded  it,  and  stowed  it  in  a  waterproof 
pocketbook,  and  bowed  himself  out.  He  was  about 
to  close  the  door  behind  him  when  the  official  called 
him  back. 

"  You  forgot  something,  captain,"  said  the  young 
man,  holding  a  packet  made  up  of  about  half  a  dozen 
letters  toward  him. 

"  Not  I,"  replied  Hemming.  He  glanced  at  the 
letters,  and  read  on  the  top  one  "  Bertram  St.  Ives 
O'Rourke,  Esq." 

"  O'Rourke,"  he  exclaimed. 

"  How  stupid  of  me,"  cried  the  young  man. 


96  Hemming,  the  Adventurer 

"Where  is  he?  When  was  he  here?"  inquired 
Hemming.  "  He  is  a  particular  friend  of  mine," 
he  added. 

The  official  considered  for  a  second  or  two. 

"  Tall  chap  with  a  yellow  face  and  a  silk  hat,  isn't 
he?  "  he  asked. 

"  Tall  enough,"  replied  Hemming,  "  but  he  had 
neither  a  yellow  face  nor  a  silk  hat  when  I  saw  him 
last  —  that  was  in  Jamaica,  about  a  year  ago." 

At  that  moment  the  door  opened  and  O'Rourke 
entered.  Without  noticing  Hemming  he  gave  a 
folded  paper  to  the  clerk. 

"  You'll  find  that  right  enough,"  he  said  —  and 
then  his  eye  lighted  upon  his  old  comrade.  He 
grasped  the  Englishman  by  the  shoulders  and  shook 
him  backward  and  forward,  grinning  all  the  while  a 
wide,  yellow  grin. 

"  My  dear  chap,"  protested  Hemming,  "  where 
have  you  been  to  acquire  this  demonstrative  na- 
ture?" 

"  Lots  of  places.  Come  and  have  a  drink,"  ex- 
claimed O'Rourke. 

"I'll  mail  that  to  your  hotel,"  called  the  pale 
young  man  after  them,  as  they  hurried  out. 

"  What  are  you  up  to  now,  my  son  ?  "  inquired 
Hemming,  critically  surveying  the  other's  faultless 


O'Rourke  Tells  a  Sad  Story         97 

attire.  "  You  look  no  end  of  a  toff,  in  spite  of  your 
yellow  face." 

"  Thanks,  and  I  feel  it,"  replied  his  friend,  "  but 
my  release  is  at  hand,  for  to-night  I  shall  hie  me 
to  mine  uncle's  and  there  deposit  these  polite  and 
costly  garments.  Already  my  riding-breeches  and 
khaki  tunic  are  airing  over  the  end  of  my  bed." 

"  But  why  this  grandeur,  and  this  wandering 
about  from  town  to  town  ?  "  asked  Hemming.  He 
caught  the  quick  look  of  inquiry  on  his  friend's 
face.  "  Dodder  told  me  you'd  been  aimlessly  touring 
through  the  Eastern  States,"  he  added. 

"  Here  we  are  —  come  in  and  I'll  tell  you  about 
it,"  replied  O'Rourke.  They  entered  the  Army  and 
Navy  Club,  and  O'Rourke,  with  a  very-much-at- 
home  air,  led  the  way  to  a  quiet  inner  room. 

"  I  suppose  we'll  split  the  soda  the  same  old  way 
—  as  we  did  before  sorrow  and  wisdom  came  to  us," 
sighed  O'Rourke.  He  gave  a  familiar  order  to  the 
attentive  waiter.  Hemming  looked  closely  at  his 
companion,  and  decided  that  the  lightness  was  only 
a  disguise. 

"  Tell  me  the  yarn,  old  boy  —  I  know  it's  of  more 
than  fighting  and  fever,"  he  said,  settling  himself 
comfortably  in  his  chair. 

O'Rourke  waited  until  the  servant  had  deposited 
the  glasses  and  retired.  Then  he  selected  two  cigars 


98  Hemming,  the  Adventurer 

from  his  case  with  commendable  care,  and,  rolling 
one  across  the  table,  lit  the  other.  He  inhaled  the 
first  draught  lazily. 

"  These  are  deuced  fine  cigars,"  remarked  Hem- 
ming. O'Rourke  nodded  his  head,  and,  with  his 
gaze  upon  the  blue  drift  of  smoke,  began  his  story. 

"  I  was  in  a  very  bad  way  when  I  got  out  of  that 
infernal  island  last  time.  I  had  a  dose  of  fever 
that  quite  eclipsed  any  of  my  former  experiences 
in  that  line  —  also  a  bullet-hole  in  the  calf  of  my 
left  leg.  Maybe  you  noticed  my  limp,  and  thought 
I  was  feigning  gout.  A  tug  brought  me  back  to 
this  country,  landing  me  at  Port  Tampa.  Some 
patriotic  Cubans  were  waiting  for  me,  and  I  made 
the  run  up  to  Tampa  in  a  car  decorated  with  flags. 
I  wore  my  Cuban  uniform,  you  know,  and  must  have 
looked  more  heroic  than  I  felt." 

Hemming  raised  his  eyebrows  at  that. 

"  I'm  a  major  in  the  Cuban  army  —  the  devil 
take  it,"  explained  O'Rourke. 

"  The  patriots  escorted  me  to  a  hotel."  he  con- 
tinued, "  but  the  manager  looked  at  my  banana-hued 
face  and  refused  to  have  anything  to  do  with  me 
at  any  price.  Failing  in  this,  my  tumultuous  friends 
rushed  me  to  a  wooden  hospital,  at  the  end  of  a  river 
of  brown  sand  which  the  inhabitants  of  that  town 
call  an  avenue.  I  was  put  to  bed  in  the  best  room 


O'Rourke  Tells  a  Sad  Story        99 

in  the  place,  and  then  my  friends  hurried  away,  each 
one  to  find  his  own  doctor  to  offer  me.  I  was  glad 
of  the  quiet,  for  I  felt  about  as  beastly  as  a  man 
can  feel  without  flickering  out  entirely.  I  don't 
think  my  insides  just  then  would  have  been  worth 
more  than  two  cents  to  any  one  but  a  medical 
student.  The  matron  —  at  least  that's  what  they 
called  her  —  came  in  to  have  a  look  at  me,  and  ask 
me  questions.  She  was  young,  and  she  was  pretty, 
and  her  impersonal  manner  grieved  me  even  then. 
I  might  have  been  a  dashed  pacifico  for  all  the  in- 
terest she  showed  in  me,  beyond  taking  my  tem- 
perature and  ordering  the  fumigation  of  my  clothes. 
I  wouldn't  have  felt  so  badly  about  it  if  she  had 
not  been  a  lady  —  but  she  was,  sure  enough,  and 
her  off-hand  treatment  very  nearly  made  me  forget 
my  cramps  and  visions  of  advancing  land-crabs. 
During  the  next  few  days  I  didn't  know  much  of 
anything.  When  my  head  felt  a  little  clearer,  the 
youthful  matron  brought  me  a  couple  of  telegrams. 
I  asked  her  to  open  them,  and  read  them  to  me. 
Evidently  my  Cuban  friends  had  reported  the  state 
of  my  health,  and  other  things,  for  both  telegrams 
were  tender  inquiries  after  my  condition. 

'  You  seem  to  be  a  person  of  some  importance,' 
she  said,  regarding  me  as  if  I  were  a  specimen  in 
a  jar. 


IOO        Hemming,  the  Adventurer 

" '  My  name  is  O'Rourke,'  I  murmured.  For 
awhile  she  stared  at  me  in  a  puzzled  sort  of  way. 
Suddenly  she  blushed. 

"  '  I  beg  your  pardon,  Mr.  O'Rourke/  she  said, 
and  sounded  as  if  she  meant  it.  I  felt  more  com- 
fortable, and  sucked  my  ration  of  milk  and  lime- 
water  with  relish.  Next  day  the  black  orderly  told 
me  that  the  matron  was  Miss  Hudson,  from  some- 
where up  North.  He  didn't  know  just  where.  I 
gave  him  a  verbal  order  on  the  hospital  for  a  dollar. 

"  Presently  Miss  Hudson  came  in  and  greeted  me 
cheerfully.  '  Why  do  you  want  Harley  to  have 
a  dollar  ?  '  she  asked. 

"  '  Just  for  a  tip,'  I  replied,  wearily. 

"  '  He  is  paid  to  do  his  work,  and  if  some  patients 
fee  him,  the  poorer  ones  will  suffer/  she  said. 

" '  But  I  want  him  to  have  it,  please.  He  told 
me  your  name/  I  said. 

"  She  paid  no  more  attention  to  this  foolish  re- 
mark than  if  I  had  sneezed.  Indeed,  even  less,  for 
if  I  had  sneezed  she  would  have  taken  my  pulse 
or  my  temperature.  I  watched  her  as  she  moved 
about  the  room  seeing  that  all  was  clean  and  in 
order. 

"  *  Miss  Hudson/  I  said,  gaining  courage,  '  will 
you  tell  me  what  is  going  on  in  the  world?  Have 
you  a  New  York  paper  ?  ' 


O'Rourke  Tells  a  Sad  Story       101 

"  *  Yes,  some  papers  have  come  for  you/  she  an- 
swered, '  and  I  will  read  to  you  for  a  little  while, 
if  you  feel  strong  enough  to  listen.  There  is  a  letter, 
too.  Shall  I  open  it  for  you  ?  ' 

"  She  drew  a  chair  between  my  bed  and  the  win- 
dow, and,  first  of  all,  examined  the  letter. 

" '  From  the  New  York  News  Syndicate/  she 
said. 

"  '  Then  it's  only  a  check/  I  sighed. 

"  '  I  shall  put  it  away  with  the  money  you  had 
when  you  came/  she  said.  She  opened  a  paper, 
glanced  at  it,  and  wrinkled  her  white  brow  at  me. 

"  *  Are  you  the  Bertram  St.  Ives  O'Rourke?  '  she 
asked. 

" '  No,  indeed/  I  replied.  '  He  has  been  dead  a 
long  time.  He  was  an  admiral  in  the  British  navy.' 

"  '  I  have  never  heard  of  him/  she  answered,  '  but 
there  is  a  man  with  that  name  who  writes  charming 
little  stories,  and  verses,  too,  I  think.' 

" '  Oh,  that  duffer/  I  exclaimed,  faintly. 

"  She  laughed  quietly.  '  There  is  an  article  about 
him  here  —  at  least  I  suppose  it  is  the  same  man.' 
She  glanced  down  the  page  and  then  up  at  me.  *  An 
angel  unawares/  she  laughed,  and  chaffed  me  kindly 
about  my  modesty. 

"  After  that  we  became  better  friends  every  day, 
though  she  often  laughed  at  the  way  some  of  the 


IO2         Hemming,  the  Adventurer 

papers  tried  to  make  a  hero  of  me.  That  hurt  me, 
because  really  I  had  gone  through  some  awful 
messes,  and  been  sniped  at  a  dozen  times.  The 
Spaniards  had  a  price  on  my  head.  I  told  her  that, 
but  she  didn't  seem  impressed.  As  soon  as  I  was 
able  to  see  people,  my  friends  the  Cuban  cigar  man- 
ufacturers called  upon  me,  singly  and  in  pairs,  each 
with  a  gift  of  cigars.  These  are  out  of  their  offer- 
ings. The  more  they  did  homage  to  me,  the  less 
seriously  did  Miss  Hudson  seem  to  regard  my  hero- 
ism. But  she  liked  me  —  yes,  we  were  good 
friends." 

O'Rourke  ceased  talking  and  pensively  flipped  the 
ash  off  his  cigar.  Leaning  back  in  his  chair,  he 
stared  at  the  ceiling. 

"  Well  ?  "  inquired  his  friend.  O'Rourke  returned 
to  the  narration  of  his  experience  with  a  visible 
effort. 

"  After  awhile  she  read  to  me,  for  half  an  hour 
or  so,  every  day.  One  evening  she  read  a  ballad 
of  my  own ;  by  gad,  it  was  fine.  But  then,  even  the 
Journal  sounded  like  poetry  when  she  got  hold  of  it. 
From  that  we  got  to  talking  about  ourselves  to  each 
other,  and  she  told  me  that  she  had  learned  nursing, 
after  her  freshman  year  at  Vassar,  because  of  a 
change  in  her  father's  affairs.  She  had  come  South 
with  a  wealthy  patient,  and,  after  his  recovery,  had 


O'Rourke  Tells  a  Sad  Story       103 

accepted  the  position  of  matron,  or  head  nurse,  of 
that  little  hospital.  In  return,  I  yarned  away  about 
my  boyhood,  my  more  recent  adventures,  my  friends, 
and  my  ambitions.  At  last  my  doctor  said  I  could 
leave  the  hospital,  but  must  go  North  right  away. 
My  leg  was  healed,  but  otherwise  I  looked  and  felt 
a  wreck.  I  was  so  horribly  weak,  and  my  nights 
continued  so  crowded  with  suffering  and  delirium, 
that  I  feared  my  constitution  was  ruined.  I  tried 
to  keep  myself  in  hand  when  Miss  Hudson  was 
around,  but  she  surely  guessed  that  I  loved  her." 

"  What's  that  ?  "  interrupted  Hemming. 

"  I  said  that  I  loved  her,"  retorted  O'Rourke,  de- 
fiantly. 

"  Go  ahead  with  the  story,"  said  the  English- 
man. 

"  When  the  time  came  for  my  departure,"  con- 
tinued O'Rourke,  "  and  the  carriage  was  waiting 
at  the  curb,  I  just  kissed  her  hand  and  left  without 
saying  a  word.  I  came  North  and  got  doctors  to 
examine  me.  They  said  that  my  heart  and  lungs 
were  right  as  could  be,  and  that  the  rest  of  my  gear 
would  straighten  up  in  time.  They  promised  even 
a  return  of  my  complexion  with  the  departure  of  the 
malaria  from  my  blood.  But  I  must  live  a  quiet 
life  for  awhile,  they  said ;  so  to  begin  the  quiet  life 


104         Hemming,  the  Adventurer 

I  returned  to  Tampa,  and  that  hospital.  But  I  did 
not  find  the  girl." 

"  Was  she  hiding?  "  inquired  Hemming.  "  Per- 
haps she  had  heard  some  stories  to  your  discredit." 

"  No,"  said  O'Rourke,  "  she  had  resigned,  and 
left  the  town,  with  her  father.  Evidently  her 
troubles  were  ended  —  just  as  mine  were  begun." 

"  What  did  you  do  about  it  ?  "  asked  Hemming, 
whose  interest  was  thoroughly  aroused. 

"  Oh,  I  looked  for  her  everywhere  —  in  Boston, 
and  New  York,  and  Baltimore,  and  Washington,  and 
read  all  the  city  directories,"  replied  the  disconsolate 
lover,  "  but  I  do  not  know  her  father's  first  name, 
and  you  have  no  idea  what  a  lot  of  Hudsons  there 
are  in  the  world." 

Hemming  discarded  the  butt  of  his  cigar,  and  eyed 
his  friend  contemplatively/ 

"  I  suppose  you  looked  in  the  registers  of  the 
Tampa  hotels?  "  he  queried.  "  The  old  chap's  name 
and  perhaps  his  address  would  be  there." 

O'Rourke  started  from  his  chair,  with  dismay 
and  shame  written  on  his  face. 

"  Sit  down  and  have  another,"  said  Hemming ; 
"  we'll  look  it  up  in  a  few  days." 


CHAPTER   X. 

LIEUTENANT  ELLIS  IS   CONCERNED 

BY  the  time  Hemming  and  O'Rourke  reached 
Tampa,  about  thirty  thousand  men  had  gone  under 
canvas  in  the  surrounding  pine  groves  and  low- 
lying  waste  places.  There  were  Westerners  and 
Easterners,  regulars  and  volunteers,  and  at  Port 
Tampa  a  regiment  of  coloured  cavalry.  Troops  were 
arriving  every  day.  Colonel  Wood  and  Lieutenant- 
Colonel  Roosevelt,  with  their  splendid  command  of 
mounted  infantry,  had  just  pitched  their  shelter- 
tents  in  a  place  of  scrub  palmetto,  behind  the  big 
hotel.  Taken  altogether,  it  was  an  army  that  made 
Hemming  stare. 

The  friends  went  to  a  quiet  hotel  with  wide  ve- 
randas, cool  rooms,  open  fireplaces,  and  what  proved 
equally  attractive,  reasonable  rates.  They  inquired 
of  the  clerk  about  Mr.  Hudson.  He  remembered 
the  gentleman  well,  though  he  had  spent  only  two 
days  in  the  place.  "  He  had  a  daughter  with  him," 

105 


io6        Hemming,  the  Adventurer 

the  man  informed  them,  and,  turning  to  the  front  of 
the  register,  looked  up  the  name.  "  There's  the 
signature,  sir,  and  you're  welcome  to  it,"  he  said. 
The  correspondents  examined  it  intently  for  some 
time. 

"  We  know  that  that  means  Hudson,"  remarked 
O'Rourke,  at  last,  "  and  I  should  guess  John  for 
the  other  sprawl." 

"  Sprawl  is  good,"  said  Hemming,  straightening 
his  monocle,  "  but  any  one  can  see  that  Robert  is 
the  name." 

"  I've  put  a  lot  of  study  on  it,"  said  the  clerk, 
*'  and  so  has  the  boss,  and  we've  about  agreed  to 
call  it  Harold." 

"  Take  your  choice,"  said  O'Rourke,  "  but  tell 
me  what  you  make  of  the  address." 

"  Boston,"  cried  the  clerk. 

They  stared  at  him.  "  You  were  all  ready,"  said 
Hemming. 

"  Yes,  sir,"  he  replied,  "  for  I've  been  thinking  it 
over  for  some  time." 

"  Why  the  devil  didn't  you  ask  him  ?  "  inquired 
O'Rourke,  fretfully. 

"  Lookee  here,  colonel,"  said  the  hotel  man,  "  if 
you  know  Mr.  Hudson,  you  know  darn  well  why 
I  didn't  ask  him  where  he  came  from." 

"High  and  haughty?"  queried  O'Rourke. 


Lieutenant  Ellis  Is  Concerned     107 

The  clerk  nodded. 

"  You  had  better  reconsider  your  course,  old 
chap,"  laughed  the  Englishman. 

His  friend  did  not  reply.  He  was  again  intent 
on  the  register. 

"  I  make  seven  letters  in  it,"  he  said,  "  and  I'll 
swear  to  that  for  an  N." 

"  N  nothing,"  remarked  the  clerk;   "  that's  a  B." 

"  Yes,  it  is  a  B,  I  think,  and  to  me  the  word  looks 
like  —  well,  like  Balloon,"  said  Hemming. 

O'Rourke  sighed.  "Of  course  it  is  New  York; 
see  the  break  in  the  middle,  and  a  man  is  more  likely 
to  come  from  there  than  from  a  balloon,"  he  said. 

"  Some  men  go  away  in  balloons,  sir,"  suggested 
the  clerk. 

Just  then  the  proprietor  of  the  hotel  entered  and 
approached  the  desk.  He  Was  an  imposing  figure 
of  a  man,  tall  and  deep,  and  suitably  dressed  in  the 
roomiest  of  light  tweeds.  His  face  was  round  and 
clever.  He  shook  hands  with  the  new  arrivals. 

"  Military  men,  I  believe,"  he  said. 

"  Not  just  now,"  replied  Hemming. 

"  Do  you  know  where  Mr.  Hudson  is  at  pres- 
ent ?  "  asked  O'Rourke,  in  casual  tones. 

"  Mr.  Hudson,  of  Philadelphia  ?  Why,  no,  sir, 
I  can't  say  that  I  do,"  answered  the  big  man. 


IO8         Hemming,  the  Adventurer 

"  How  do  you  know  he's  of  Philadelphia  ? " 
asked  the  Englishman. 

"  He  wrote  it  in  the  register;  look  for  yourself," 
was  the  reply. 

"  No,"  said  O'Rourke,  mournfully,  "  but  it  is  a 
very  dry  evening,  and  if  you  will  honour  us  with 
your  company  as  far  as  the  bar,  Mr.  —  " 

"  Stillman,  —  delighted,  sir,"  hastily  replied  the 
proprietor. 

The  three  straightway  sought  that  cool  retreat, 
leaving  the  clerk  to  brood,  with  wrinkled  brow, 
above  the  puzzle  so  unconsciously  donated  to  him 
by  a  respectable  one-time  guest. 

The  weary  delay  in  that  town  of  sand  and  dis- 
order at  last  came  to  an  end,  and  Hemming  and 
O'Rourke,  with  their  passports  countersigned  by 
General  Shafter,  went  aboard  the  Olivette.  Most 
of  the  newspaper  men  were  passengers  on  the  same 
boat.  During  the  rather  slow  trip,  they  made  many 
friends  and  a  few  enemies.  One  of  the  friends  was 
a  youth  with  a  camera,  sent  to  take  pictures  for  the 
same  weekly  paper  which  O'Rourke  represented. 
The  landing  in  Cuba  of  a  part  of  the  invading  forces 
and  the  correspondents  was  made  at  Baiquiri,  on 
the  southern  coast.  The  woful  mismanagement  of 
this  landing  has  been  written  about  often  enough. 
O'Rourke  and  Hemming,  unable  to  procure  horses, 


Lieutenant  Ellis  Is  Concerned     109 

set  off  toward  Siboney  on  foot,  and  on  foot  they 
went  through  to  Santiago  with  the  ragged,  hungry, 
wonderful  army.  They  did  their  work  well  enough, 
and  were  thankful  when  it  was  over.  Hemming 
admired  the  American  army  —  up  to  a  certain 
grade.  Part  of  the  time  they  had  a  merry  Toronto 
journalist  for  messmate,  a  peaceful  family  man,  who 
wore  a  round  straw  hat  and  low  shoes  throughout 
the  campaign.  During  the  marching  (but  not  the 
fighting),  O'Rourke  happened  upon  several  mem- 
bers of  his  old  command.  One  of  the  meetings  took 
place  at  midnight,  when  the  Cuban  warrior  was  in 
the  act  of  carrying  away  Hemming's  field-glasses 
and  the  Toronto  man's  blanket. 

After  the  surrender  of  Santiago,  Hemming  re- 
ceived word  to  cover  Porto  Rico.  He  started  at 
the  first  opportunity  in  a  gunboat  that  had  once 
been  a  harbour  tug.  O'Rourke,  who  was  anxious  to 
continue  his  still  hunt  for  the  lady  who  had  nursed 
him,  returned  to  Florida,  and  from  thence  to  New 
York. 

In  Porto  Rico  Hemming  had  an  easy  and  pleasant 
time.  He  struck  up  an  acquaintance  that  soon 
warmed  to  intimacy  with  a  young  volunteer  lieu- 
tenant of  infantry,  by  name  Ellis.  Ellis  was  a  quiet, 
well-informed  youth;  in  civil  life  a  gentleman-at- 
large  with  a  reputation  as  a  golfer.  With  his  com- 


Iio         Hemming,  the  Adventurer 

mand  of  sixteen  men  he  was  stationed  just  outside 
of  Ponce,  and  under  the  improvised  canvas  awning 
before  his  door  he  and  Hemming  exchanged  views 
and  confidences.  One  evening,  while  the  red  eyes 
of  their  green  cigars  glowed  and  dimmed  in  the 
darkness,  Hemming  told  of  his  first  meeting  with 
O'Rourke.  He  described  the  little  boat  tossing 
toward  them  from  the  vast  beyond,  the  poncho  bel- 
lied with  the  wind,  and  the  lean,  undismayed  adven- 
turer smoking  at  the  tiller.  Ellis  sat  very  quiet, 
staring  toward  the  white  tents  of  his  men. 

"  Is  that  the  same  O'Rourke  who  was  once 
wounded  in  Cuba,  and  later  nearly  died  of  fever 
in  Tampa?"  he  asked,  when  Hemming  was  through. 

"  Yes,  the  same  man,"  said  Hemming,  "  and  as 
decent  a  chap  as  ever  put  foot  in  stirrup.  Do  you 
know  him  ?  " 

"  No,  but  I  have  heard  a  deal  about  him,"  replied 
the  lieutenant.  It  did  not  surprise  Hemming  that 
a  man  should  hear  about  O'Rourke.  Surely  the 
good  old  chap  had  worked  hard  enough  (in  his  own 
daring,  vagrant  way)  for  his  reputation.  He 
brushed  a  mosquito  away  from  his  neck,  and  smoked 
on  in  silence. 

"  I  have  heard  a  —  a  romance  connected  with 
your  friend  O'Rourke,"  said  Ellis,  presently,  in  a 


Lieutenant  Ellis  Is  Concerned     in 

voice  that  faltered.  Hemming  pricked  up  his  ears 
at  that. 

"  So  have  I.  Tell  me  what  you  have  heard,"  he 
said. 

"  It  is  not  so  much  what  I've  heard,  as  who  I 
heard  it  from,"  began  the  lieutenant,  "  and  it's 
rather  a  personal  yarn.  I  met  a  girl,  not  long  ago, 
and  we  seemed  to  take  to  each  other  from  the  start. 
I  saw  her  frequently,  and  I  got  broken  up  on  her. 
Then  I  found  out  that,  though  she  liked  me  better 
than  any  other  fellow  in  sight,  she  did  not  love  me 
one  little  bit.  She  admired  my  form  at  golf,  and 
considered  my  conversation  edifying,  but  when  it 
came  to  love,  why,  there  was  some  one  else.  Then 
she  told  me  about  O'Rourke.  She  had  nursed  him 
in  Tampa  for  several  months,  just  before  the  time 
old  Hudson  had  recaptured  his  fortune." 

"  O'Rourke  told  me  something  about  it,"  said 
Hemming.  "  He  thought,  at  the  time,  that  he  was 
an  invalid  for  life,  so  he  did  not  let  her  know  how 
he  felt  about  her.  Afterward  the  doctors  told  him 
he  was  sound  as  a  bell,  and  ever  since  —  barring 
this  last  Cuban  business  —  he  has  been  looking  for 
her." 

"  But  he  does  not  know  that  she  loves  him  ?  " 
queried  Ellis. 

"  I  really  couldn't  say,"  replied  Hemming. 


112         Hemming,  the  Adventurer 

Ellis  shifted  his  position,  and  with  deft  fingers 
rerolled  the  leaf  of  his  moist  cigar.  In  a  dim  sort 
of  way  he  wondered  if  he  could  give  up  the  girl. 
In  time,  perhaps,  she  would  love  him  —  if  he  could 
keep  O'Rourke  out  of  sight.  A  man  in  the  little 
encampment  began  to  sing  a  sentimental  negro  mel- 
ody. The  clear,  sympathetic  tenor  rang,  like  a 
bugle-call,  across  the  stagnant  air.  A  banjo,  with 
its  wilful  pathos,  tinkled  and  strummed. 

"  Listen !  that  is  Bolls,  my  sergeant.  He  is  a 
member  of  the  Harvard  Glee  Club,"  said  the  lieu- 
tenant. 

Hemming  listened,  and  the  sweet  voice  awoke  the 
bitter  memories.  Presently  he  asked :  "  What  is 
Miss  Hudson's  address?" 

"  She  is  now  in  Europe,  with  her  father,"  replied 
his  companion.  "  Their  home  is  in  Marlow,  New 
York  State." 

"  May  I  let  O'Rourke  know  ?  "  asked  Hemming. 

"  Certainly,"  replied  Ellis,  scarce  above  a  whis- 
per. He  wondered  what  nasty,  unsuspected  devil 
had  sprung  to  power  within  him,  keeping  him  from 
telling  that  the  home  in  Marlow  was  by  this  time 
in  the  hands  of  strangers,  and  that  the  Hudsons  in- 
tended living  in  New  York  after  their  return  from 
Europe. 

O'Rourke  had  asked  Hemming  to  write  to  him 


Lieutenant  Ellis  Is  Concerned     113 

now  and  then,  to  the  Army  and  Navy  Club  at  Wash- 
ington, where  the  letters  would  be  sure  to  find  him 
sooner  or  later;  so  Hemming  wrote  him  the  glad 
information  from  Porto  Rico. 


CHAPTER   XI. 

HEMMING  DRAWS   HIS  BACK  PAY 

HEMMING  walked  down  Broadway  on  the  morn- 
ing of  a  bright  November  day.  The  hurrying 
crowds  on  the  pavements,  however  weary  at  heart, 
looked  glad  and  eager  in  the  sunlight.  The  stir 
of  the  wide  street  got  into  his  blood,  and  he  stepped 
along  with  the  air  of  one  bound  upon  an  errand  that 
promised  more  than  money.  He  entered  a  cigar 
store,  and  filled  his  case  with  Turkish  cigarettes. 
Some  newspapers  lay  on  the  counter,  but  he  turned 
away  from  them,  for  he  was  sick  of  news.  Further 
along,  he  glanced  into  the  windows  of  a  book-shop. 
His  gaze  alighted  upon  the  figure  of  a  Turkish  sol- 
dier. Across  the  width  of  the  sheet  ran  the  magic 
words,  "  Where  Might  Is  Right.  A  Book  of  the 
Greco-Turkish  War.  By  Herbert  Hemming." 

As  one  walks  in  a  dream,  Hemming  entered  the 
shop.  "  Give  me  a  copy  of  that  book,"  he  said. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  sir?  "  inquired  the  shopman. 

Hemming  recovered  his  wits. 
114 


Hemming  Draws  His  Back  Pay   115 

"  I  want  a  copy  of  '  Where  Might  Is  Right,' 
by  Hemming,"  he  said.  He  laid  aside  his  gloves 
and  stick,  and  opened  the  book  with  loving  hands. 
His  first  book.  The  pride  of  it  must  have  been  very 
apparent  on  his  tanned  face,  for  the  man  behind 
the  counter  smiled. 

"  I  have  read  that  book  myself,"  ventured  the 
man.  "  I  always  read  a  book  that  I  sell  more  than 
twenty  copies  of  in  one  day." 

Hemming  glowed,  and  continued  his  scrutiny  of 
the  volume.  On  one  of  the  first  pages  was  printed, 
"  Authorized  American  Edition."  The  name  of 
the  publishers  was  S 's  Sons. 

"  Where  do  S 's  Sons  hang  out?  "  he  asked, 

as  he  paid  for  the  book. 

"  Just  five  doors  below  this,"  said  the  man. 

"  I'll  look  in  there,"  decided  Hemming,  "  before 
I  call  on  Dodder." 

The  war  correspondent  was  cordially  received  by 
the  head  of  the  great  publishing  house.  He  was 
given  a  comprehensive  account  of  the  arrangements 
made  between  his  London  and  New  York  publishers, 
and  these  proved  decidedly  satisfactory.  The  busi- 
ness talk  over,  Hemming  prepared  to  go. 

"  I  hope  you  will  look  me  up  again  before  you 
leave  town,"  said  the  head  of  the  firm,  as  they  shook 
hands. 


Ii6         Hemming,  the  Adventurer 

Arrived  in  the  outer  office  of  the  New  York  News 
Syndicate,  Hemming  inquired  for  Mr.  Dodder. 
The  clerk  stared  at  him  with  so  strange  an  expres- 
sion that  his  temper  suffered. 

"  Welt,  what  the  devil  is  the  matter  ?  "  he  ex- 
claimed. 

"  Mr.  Dodder  is  dead,"  replied  the  youth.  Just 
then  Wells  came  from  an  inner  room,  caught  sight 
of  the  Englishman,  and  approached. 

"So  you're  back,  are  you?"  he  remarked,  with 
his  hands  in  his  pockets.  Hemming  was  thinking 
of  the  big,  kind-hearted  manager,  and  replied  by 
asking  the  cause  of  his  death.  "  Apoplexy.  Are 
you  ready  to  sail  for  the  Philippines?  Why  didn't 
you  wait  in  Porto  Rico  for  orders?  "  he  snapped. 

"  Keep  cool,  my  boy,"  said  Hemming's  brain  to 
Hemming's  heart.  Hemming  himself  said,  with 
painful  politeness :  "  I  can  be  ready  in  two  days, 
Mr.  Wells,  but  first  we  must  make  some  new  ar- 
rangements as  to  expenses  and  salary." 

"  Do  you  think  you  are  worth  more  than  you 
get?"  sneered  Wells.  "Has  that  book  that  you 
wrote,  when  we  were  paying  you  to  do  work  for  us, 
given  you  a  swelled  head  ?  " 

Hemming  was  about  to  reply  when  an  overgrown 
young  man,  a  bookkeeper,  who  had  been  listening, 
nudged  his  elbow  roughly. 


Hemming  Draws  His  Back  Pay   117 

"  Here's  your  mail,"  he  said. 

Hemming  placed  the  half-dozen  letters  in  his 
pocket.  His  face  was  quite  pale,  considering  the 
length  of  time  he  had  been  in  the  tropics.  He  took 
the  overgrown  youth  by  the  front  of  his  jacket  and 
shook  him.  Then  he  twirled  him  deftly  and  pushed 
him  sprawling  against  his  enraged  employer.  Both 
went  down,  swearing  viciously.  The  other  inmates 
of  the  great  room  stared  and  waited.  Most  of  them 
looked  pleased.  An  office  boy,  who  had  received  no- 
tice to  leave  that  morning,  sprang  upon  a  table. 
"  Soak  it  to  'em,  Dook.  Soak  it  to  'em,  you  bang-up 
Chawley.  Dey  can't  stand  dat  sort  o'  health  food." 

Wells  got  to  his  feet.  The  bookkeeper  scrambled 
up  and  rushed  at  Hemming.  He  was  received  in 
a  grip  that  made  him  repent  his  action. 

"  Mr.  Wells,"  said  Hemming,  "  I  shall  hold  on 
to  this  gentleman,  who  does  not  seem  to  know  how 
to  treat  his  superiors,  until  he  cools  off,  and  in  the 
meantime  I'll  trouble  you  for  what  money  is  due  me, 
up  to  date.  Please  accept  my  resignation  at  the 
same  time." 

"  I'll  call  a  copper,"  sputtered  Wells. 

The  door  opened,  and  the  head  of  the  publishing 
house  of  S 's  Sons  entered. 

"  Good  Lord,  what  is  the  trouble?  "  he  cried. 


Ii8        Hemming,  the  Adventurer 

"  I  am  trying  to  draw  my  pay,"  explained  Hem- 
ming. 

The  new  arrival  looked  at  the  ruffled,  confused 
Wells  with  eyes  of  contempt  and  suspicion. 

"  I'll  wait  for  you,  Mr.  Hemming,  on  condition 
that  you  will  lunch  with  me,"  he  cried. 

A  few  minutes  later  they  left  the  building,  and 
in  his  pocket  Hemming  carried  a  check  for  the  sum 
of  his  back  pay. 

"  In  a  month  from  now,"  said  his  companion, 
"  that  concern  will  not  be  worth  as  much  as  your 
check  is  written  for.  Even  poor  old  Dodder  had 
all  he  could  do  to  hold  it  together.  He  had  the 
brains  and  decency,  and  that  fellow  had  the  money." 

By  the  time  lunch  was  over,  Hemming  found 
himself  once  more  in  harness,  but  harness  of  so 
easy  a  fit  that  not  a  buckle  galled.  The  billet  was 
a  roving  commission  from  S 's  Sons  to  do  arti- 
cles of  unusual  people  and  unusual  places  for  their 
illustrated  weekly  magazine.  He  spent  the  after- 
noon in  reading  and  writing  letters.  He  advised 
every  one  with  whom  he  had  dealings  of  his  new 
headquarters.  He  had  a  good  collection  of  maps, 
and  sat  up  until  three  in  the  morning  pondering  over 
them.  Next  day  he  bought  himself  a  camera,  and 
overhauled  his  outfit.  By  the  dawn  of  the  third 


Hemming  Draws  His  Back  Pay   119 

day  after  his  separation  from  the  syndicate,  he  had 
decided  to  start  northward,  despite  the  season. 

The  clamour  of  battle  was  no  longer  his  guide. 
Now  the  Quest  of  the  Little-Known  was  his.  It 
brought  him  close  to  many  hearths,  and  taught  him 
the  hearts  of  all  sorts  and  conditions  of  men.  In 
the  span  of  a  few  years,  it  made  him  familiar  with 
a  hundred  villages  between  Nain  in  the  North  and 
Rio  de  Janeiro  in  the  South.  He  found  comfort 
under  the  white  lights  of  strange  cities,  and  sought 
peace  in  various  wildernesses.  Under  the  canvas 
roof  and  the  bark,  as  under  the  far-shining  shelters 
of  the  town,  came  ever  the  dream  of  his  old  life  for 
bedfellow. 


END  OF   PART   I. 


PART   TWO 


CHAPTER   I. 

THE   UNSUSPECTED   CITY 

HEMMING  happened  upon  the  city  of  Pernamba 
on  the  evening  of  a  sultry  day  in  April.  He  mani- 
fested no  surprise  beyond  straightening  his  monocle 
in  his  eye. 

"  Hope  they  have  some  English  soda-water  down 
there,"  he  said  to  the  heavy  foliage  about  him,  "  but 
I  suppose  it  would  be  hardly  fair  to  expect  an  ice 
factory  so  far  from  the  coast."  For  a  second  a 
vision  of  tall  glasses  and  ice  that  clinked  came  to 
his  mind's  eye.  He  remembered  the  cool  dining- 
rooms  of  his  friends  in  Pernambuco.  He  spurred 
his  native-bred  steed  to  a  hesitating  trot  along  the 
narrow,  hoof-worn  path  that  led  down  to  the  valley. 
At  a  mud  and  timber  hut  set  beneath  banana-trees, 
and  backed  by  a  tiny  field,  he  drew  rein.  A  woman 
sat  before  the  door,  looking  cool  and  at  ease  in  her 
scanty  cotton  dress.  A  naked  child  chased  a  pig 
among  the  bananas.  Hemming  greeted  the  woman 

123 


124        Hemming,  the  Adventurer 

in  Portuguese.  She  gave  him  humble  greeting  in 
return.  The  pig  and  the  baby  came  near  to  listen. 
Hemming  swung  his  feet  free  from  the  stirrups,  to 
straighten  the  kink  out  of  his  knees.  He  pushed 
back  his  pith  helmet,  and  lit  a  cigarette. 

"  What  is  the  name  of  the  town  ?  "  he  asked,  smil- 
ing reassuringly. 

The  woman  told  him,  standing  respectfully  on 
the  earthen  threshold.  Such  square  shoulders  and 
clear  eyes  as  this  Englishman's  were  not  every-day 
sights  in  Pernamba. 

"May  a  stranger  find  entertainment  there?"  he 
inquired. 

"  Yes,"  she  replied,  "  and  the  great  man  who  owns 
it  is  generous  to  strangers.  He  is  a  big  man,  full 
of  wisdom,  smoking  eternally  a  yellow  cigar  not 
of  this  country." 

Hemming  dismounted,  the  better  to  rest  his  horse. 
Although  he  had  ridden  all  that  day  and  the  day 
before,  he  felt  no  fatigue  himself.  The  tropical 
sun,  the  narrow  water-cut  paths,  and  the  clamber- 
ing vines  held  in  the  heated  air  and  luring  him  with 
strange  flowers,  brought  him  no  terror.  But  he 
polished  his  monocle  and  sighed  uneasily,  for  his 
store  of  milreis  had  dwindled  since  leaving  Pernam- 
buco  a  week  before  to  a  sum  equalling  about  eleven 
pounds  in  English  money. 


The  Unsuspected  City  125 

"  Has  this  man  an  army?  "  he  asked. 

"  Truly  a  great  army,"  replied  the  woman,  "  for 
I  have  seen  it  myself,  riding  after  thieves.  It  num- 
bers five  hundred  men,  all  armed,  and  wearing  white 
tunics,  and  all  paid  for  by  this  man.  He  must  be 
richer  than  a  king  to  support  so  grand  an  army." 

Hemming  smiled  toward  the  white  and  red  roofs 
and  clumps  of  foliage  in  the  valley,  thinking,  maybe, 
of  his  own  old  regiment,  of  Aldershot  during  a  re- 
view, of  the  hill  batteries  that  had  supported  the 
infantry  advance  in  India,  and  of  the  fifty  regiments 
under  canvas  in  Tampa. 

"  I  crave  a  drink,"  he  said,  —  "a  finger  of  your 
good  casash  in  a  bowl  of  cool  water." 

The  woman  brought  it,  smiling  with  hospitality, 
and  would  not  accept  the  ragged  bill  which  he  held 
out  to  her. 

"  It  is  a  pleasure,"  cried  she,  "  to  slake  the  thirst 
of  so  distinguished  a  senor." 

Hemming  bowed  gravely,  a  smile  lifting  his  up- 
turned, pale  moustache.  The  baby  came  close,  on 
all  fours,  and  examined  his  yellow  riding-boots  and 
straight  spurs.  Hemming  patted  the  small  one's 
limp  black  hair. 

"  This  is  a  kindly  world,"  he  said  in  English, 
then  to  the  woman :  "  Let  thy  son  wear  this  ring, 
—  see,  it  fits  his  thumb.  Should  any  man  ask  the 


126        Hemming,  the  Adventurer 

name  of  his  friend,  say  it  is  Hemming,  an  English- 
man." 

He  pushed  the  child  gently  toward  its  mother, 
and,  swinging  to  his  saddle,  rode  down  toward  the 
city.  His  gray  eyes  took  in  everything,  —  the  yel- 
lowing fruit,  the  fields  of  cane,  the  mud  huts  of  the 
poor,  the  thin  horses  of  the  charcoal-burners  crowd- 
ing out  of  the  trail  to  let  him  pass,  and  the  patches 
of  manioc. 

All  this  he  beheld  with  satisfaction.  In  a  thin 
book  he  made  a  note,  thus :  "  Pernamba,  name  of 
town  evidently  run  by  a  governor  of  independent 
spirit.  Army  of  500,  evidently  mounted  infantry. 
Welcomed  to  outskirts  of  city  by  kind  peasant 
woman,  evening  of  April  6,  19 — .  Same  climate 
and  crops  as  rest  of  Brazil.  Eleven  pounds  in  my 
pockets  in  Brazilian  notes  and  small  coin.  What 
does  Pernamba  hold  for  H.  H.  I  wonder  ?  A  dinner 
or  two,  perhaps,  and  a  couple  of  chapters  for  my 
book." 

Presently  the  twisting  path  met  a  highway  be- 
tween royal  palms.  Good-sized  villas,  their  walls 
all  blue  and  white  with  glazed  tiles,  their  roofs  dusky 
red,  or  else  flat  and  railed  about  with  white  stones, 
each  in  its  separate  garden.  The  gardens  were  en- 
closed by  high  walls  of  brick,  such  as  he  had  seen 
many  times  in  the  resident  sections  of  Pernambuco. 


The  Unsuspected  City  127 

For  months  he  had  lived  in  just  such  a  house,  and 
lolled  in  just  such  a  garden. 

"  The  old  Dutch  influence,"  he  said,  tossing  his 
cigarette  over  the  nearest  wall.  A  bullock-cart  came 
creaking  along  the  road,  the  patient  cattle,  with 
heads  held  low  and  a  straight  yoke  across  their 
wrinkled  necks,  the  driver  walking  at  their  heels, 
sombre  with  dust,  and  daintily  puffing  a  cigarette. 
The  cart  was  loaded  with  sacks  of  sugar,  which  sent 
up  a  heavy,  sickly  smell.  Hemming  hailed  the 
driver. 

"  Where  does  the  governor  live,  my  friend  ?  " 

"  The  President,  senor  ?  There  behind  the  white 
panthers."  With  the  stock  of  his  rawhide  whip, 
the  fellow  pointed  to  an  iron  gate,  set  between  posts 
of  red  brick,  topped  with  marble  panthers.  Each 
panther  held  a  shield  between  its  front  paws.  Hem- 
ming threw  the  bullock-driver  a  coin,  and  rode  on 
the  pavement,  the  better  to  examine  the  armorial 
design  on  the  shields.  He  laughed  softly. 

"  Familiar,"  he  said,  "  ah,  yes,  a  good  enough 
old  Devonshire  shield.  I  have  admired  it  in  the 
dining-room  of  the  Governor  of  Newfoundland. 
Now  I  doff  my  hat  to  it  at  the  entrance  of  a  presi- 
dent's residence.  Dash  it  all,  I  have  outgrown  dis- 
may, and  a  jolly  good  thing,  too."  He  flecked  a 
leaf  off  his  knee  with  the  tip  of  his  glove. 


128         Hemming,  the  Adventurer 

"  Queer  I  never  heard  about  this  before,  —  and 
what  the  deuce  is  a  Brazilian  doing  with  those 
arms?  Can  this  be  where  that  crazy  American 
whom  old  Farrington  told  me  about  hangs  out  ?  " 
His  brow  cleared,  and  he  bowed  to  the  expression- 
less panthers. 

A  sentry,  who  had  been  standing  a  few  paces  off, 
with  a  cavalry  sabre  at  his  shoulder  and  a  cigarette 
in  his  mouth,  now  drew  near  and  saluted.  Hem- 
ming returned  the  salute  sharply.  This  same  cus- 
tom of  smoking  on  sentry-go  had  jarred  on  him 
many  a  time  in  Pernambuco.  He  had  noticed  the 
same  thing  in  Bahia. 

"  I  would  see  the  President,"  he  said,  and  passed 
his  card  to  the  soldier.  From  a  small  guard-house 
just  inside  the  wall  came  several  more  white-clad 
men.  One  of  these  hurried  away  with  Hemming's 
card,  and  presently  returned.  The  gates  were  swung 
wide  open ;  Hemming  rode  in  at  a  dress-parade  trot, 
travel-stained,  straight  of  back,  his  monocle  flashing 
in  his  eye.  Soldiers  posted  here  and  there  among 
the  palms  and  roses  and  trim  flower-beds  stood  at 
attention  as  he  passed. 

He  drew  rein  and  dismounted  at  the  foot  of  the 
marble  steps.  A  tall,  heavily  built  man,  dressed  in 
a  black  frock  coat  and  white  trousers,  came  down  to 
meet  him.  A  man  in  livery  took  his  horse. 


The  Unsuspected  City  129 

"  Mr.  Hemming,"  said  the  large  man,  "  I  am 
the  President."  He  popped  a  fat,  yellow  cigar  into 
his  mouth,  and  shook  hands.  "  Come  in,"  he  said. 
He  led  the  way  into  a  large  tiled  room,  containing 
a  billiard-table  of  the  American  kind,  a  roll-top  desk, 
and  an  office  chair.  The  windows  of  the  room  were 
all  on  one  side,  and  opened  on  a  corner  of  the  gar- 
dens, in  which  a  fountain  tossed  merrily.  The  Pres- 
ident sank  into  a  chair  in  the  easiest  manner,  and 
threw  one  leg  over  the  arm  of  it.  Then  he  noticed, 
with  a  quick  twinkle  in  his  blue  eyes,  Hemming 
in  the  middle  of  the  floor,  erect  and  unsmiling. 

"  Mr.  Hemming,"  he  said,  "  I  want  your  respect, 
but  none  of  that  stiff-backed  ceremony  between  gen- 
tlemen. I  am  neither  Roosevelt  nor  Albert  Edward. 
Even  Morgan  is  a  bigger  man  than  I  am,  though 
I  still  hope.  You  have  been  in  the  English  army, 
and  you  like  to  have  things  starched ;  well,  so  do  I 
sometimes.  Please  fall  into  that  chair." 

Hemming  blushed  and  sat  down.  The  man  was 
evidently  crazy.  "  My  name  is  Tetson,"  said  the 
President.  He  rang  the  bell  and  a  native  servant 
entered. 

"  Thank  you,  a  Scotch  and  soda,"  said  Hemming. 

"  Ah,  I  knew  it,"  laughed  the  other,  "  though  I 
always  take  rye  myself." 

The  servant  bowed  and  retired. 


130         Hemming,  the  Adventurer 

"  I  see  the  illustrated  weeklies  of  both  New  York 
and  London,"  continued  Tetson,  "  and  I  always 
look  for  your  articles.  I  like  them.  I  know  some- 
thing about  your  family,  also,  Hemming.  I  have 
'  Burke's  Landed  Gentry '  and  '  Who's  Who  '  on 
my  desk.  You  are  a  grandson  of  Sir  Bertram  Hem- 
ming of  Barracker." 

"  Yes,"  replied  Hemming,  both  surprised  and  em- 
barrassed. 

"  Well,"  said  the  President,  "  I  have  some  blood 
in  me,  too.  My  mother's  grandmother  was  a  Gost- 
wycke.  Did  you  notice  the  three  stars  and  six 
choughs? " 

"  I  know  the  head  of  your  house  at  home,  Colonel 
Bruce-Gostwycke,  and  another  distinguished  mem- 
ber of  it  in  the  colonies,  Sir  Henry  Renton,"  replied 
Hemming.  "  But,"  he  continued,  briskly,  twisting 
his  moustache,  "  you  are  something  bigger  than 
that  here.  Why  do  you  hold  this  little  half-dead 
county  family  so  high  ?  " 

"  My  mother  in  New  York  taught  me  to,"  re- 
plied Tetson,  "  and  then  this  business  is  different. 
I  did  it,  as  you  Englishmen  say,  off  my  own  bat. 
A  pile  of  money,  a  lot  of  gall,  a  little  knowledge  of 
the  weakness  of  men  in  office,  —  this  is  all  about 
it.  Even  now  most  of  my  friends  think  me  a  fool." 
He  gravely  relit  his  yellow  cigar.  The  reek  of 


The  Unsuspected  City  131 

it  was  worse  than  jerked  beef  to  Hemming.  "  I 
will  tell  you  my  story  some  day,  but  now  you  want 
a  shower-bath  and  a  change.  Please  consider  your- 
self at  home.  Sudden  friendships  may  not  be  good 
form  in  England,  but  they  are  all  right  back  here." 

"  Ah,"  said  Hemming,  "  I  have  brushed  about 
a  bit;  I'm  not  such  a  —  so  English  as  I  look." 

Tetson  turned  to  the  servant :  "  Tell  Smith  to 
look  after  Mr.  Hemming.  Smith  is  a  handy  man. 
You  will  find  all  kinds  of  cigarettes  in  his  keeping, 
and  we  shall  dine  at  eight.  If  you  feel  hungry  in 
the  meantime,  tell  Smith." 

He  arose  and  shook  hands.  Hemming  followed 
the  servant,  inwardly  wondering,  outwardly  calm. 
He  had  met  many  strange  people  in  his  adventurous 
life,  and  had  become  accustomed  to  luck  of  every 
kind,  but  this  big  President,  with  the  yellow  cigar, 
was  beyond  anything  he  had  ever  dreamed. 

"  I  am  glad  I  was  born  with  imagination,  and 
have  enjoyed  the  enlightening  society  of  O'Rourke 
in  so  many  strange  places,"  he  thought. 

Smith  proved  to  be  a  clean-shaven  man,  all  in 
white  and  brass  buttons.  Hemming  surveyed  him 
with  interest. 

"  I  see  that  you  are  an  Englishman,  Smith,"  he 
said. 

"  No,  sir,"  replied  Smith,  in  faultless  tones.    "  I 


132         Hemming,  the  Adventurer 

was  born  on  the  Bowery.  But  I  have  been  in  Lon- 
don, sir,  yes,  sir,  with  Mr.  Tetson.  We  haven't 
always  lived  in  this  'ere  'ole." 

It  seemed  to  Hemming  that  the  h's  had  been 
dropped  with  a  certain  amount  of  effort  on  the 
man's  part,  and  that  his  eyes  twinkled  in  a  quite 
uncalled-for  way.  But  it  did  not  bother  him  now. 
Even  a  valet  may  be  allowed  his  joke. 

Soon  he  was  enjoying  the  luxury  of  a  shower- 
bath  in  a  great,  cool  room,  standing  by  itself  in  a 
vineyard  and  rose  garden.  The  shower  fell  about 
six  feet  before  it  touched  his  head.  The  roof  of  the 
building  was  open  to  the  peak,  and  a  subdued  light, 
leaf-filtered,  came  down  through  a  glass  tile  set 
in  among  the  earthen  ones.  The  walls  and  floor 
were  of  white  and  blue  tiles.  The  bath  was  of 
marble,  as  large  as  an  English  billiard-table,  and 
not  unlike  the  shallow  basin  of  a  fountain. 

Cool  and  vigorous,  Hemming  stepped  from  the 
bath,  replaced  his  eye-glass,  and  lit  a  cigarette. 
Swathed  in  a  white  robe,  with  his  feet  in  native 
slippers,  he  unlocked  the  door  and  issued  into  the 
scented  garden  air.  Smith  awaited  him  in  the  vine- 
covered  alley,  holding  a  "  swizzle  "  on  a  silver  tray. 
He  drained  the  glass,  and,  lifting  up  the  hem  of  his 
robe,  followed  the  valet  back  to  the  dressing-room. 
Chameleons  darted  across  his  path,  and  through 


The  Unsuspected  City  133 

the  palms  floated  the  ringing  notes  of  a  bugle- 
call. 

"  I  found  your  razors  and  your  brushes  in  the 
saddle-bags,"  announced  Smith,  "  and  these  shirts, 
sir,  I  bought,  guessing  at  your  size,  and  — 

"  What  is  this  ?  "  interrupted  Hemming,  holding 
aloft  a  white  jacket  heavy  with  gold. 

"  Mess  jacket  of  our  regiment,  sir.  The  Presi- 
dent would  feel  honoured  if  you  would  wear  it. 
And  these  trousers  were  sent  in  by  one  of  the  na- 
tive officers,  with  his  compliments,"  replied  the  valet. 

Hemming  curtly  intimated  his  readiness  to  dress. 
Smith  closed  the  shutters,  turned  on  the  lights,  and 
examined  a  couple  of  razors. 

Twenty  minutes  later,  Herbert  Hemming,  in  the 
mess  uniform  of  a  colonel  in  the  President  of  Per- 
namba's  army,  was  ushered  into  the  presence  of  the 
family,  and  a  certain  Mr.  Valentine  Hicks. 


CHAPTER    II. 

THE   SPORTING   PRESIDENT 

THE  President's  name  was  Harris  William  Tet- 
son.  His  wife  had  been  Mary  Appleton,  born  of 
cultured  parents  in  Philadelphia.  She  welcomed 
Hemming  in  the  most  friendly  manner.  The  third 
member  of  the  family  was  a  tall  girl,  with  a  soft 
voice  and  an  English  accent.  She  shook  hands 
with  Hemming,  and  he  noticed  that  the  pressure  of 
her  hand  was  firm  and  steady,  like  that  of  a  man's. 
She  wore  glasses.  The  light  from  the  shaded  can- 
dles glowed  warm  on  her  white  neck  and  arms. 
Hemming  had  not  expected  to  find  any  one  like  this 
in  the  interior  of  South  America.  He  used  to  know 
girls  like  her  at  home,  and  one  in  particular  flashed 
into  his  memory  with  a  pang  of  bitterness.  In  his 
agitation,  he  almost  overlooked  the  extended  hand 
of  Mr.  Valentine  Hicks. 

The  dinner  was  of  great  length.  A  few  of  the 
dishes  were  American,  but  most  were  of  the  country. 


The  Sporting  President  135 

Two  dusky  servants  waited  upon  the  diners.  The 
claret  was  to  Hemming' s  taste,  and,  as  he  listened 
to  Miss  Tetson  describe  an  incident  of  her  morn- 
ing's ride,  a  feeling  of  rest  and  homeliness  came 
to  him.  A  little  wind  stole  in  from  the  roses  and 
fountains,  and  the  man  of  wars  and  letters,  great 
dreams  and  unsung  actions,  saw,  with  wondering 
eyes,  that  it  loosened  a  red  petal  from  the  roses  at 
her  shoulder  and  dropped  it  upon  her  white  arm. 
He  looked  up  sharply,  and  only  the  light  of  genial 
friendship  remained  in  the  eyes  that  met  those  of 
Valentine  Hicks.  But  Hicks  looked  sulky;  under- 
standing came  to  the  heart  of  Hemming.  At  last 
the  dinner  came  to  an  end,  and  Tetson  dropped  the 
subject  of  freight  on  sugar,  and  took  up  the  lighter 
one  of  real  estate.  Coffee  was  brought;  no  one 
listened  to  Tetson,  but  he  prosed  on,  his  good-na- 
tured face  turned  toward  the  shadows  in  the  ceiling, 
a  yellow  cigar  stuck  jauntily  in  his  mouth.  Hem- 
ming was  busy  with  his  own  thoughts,  wondering 
into  what  nest  of  lunatics  his  free-lancing  had 
brought  him.  He  longed  for  O'Rourke's  help.  The 
girl  drew  something  from  her  bodice,  and  laid  it 
before  him.  It  was  a  cigarette-case. 

"  You  may  take  one,  if  you  do  not  bore  us  by 
looking  shocked,"  she  said. 

Hemming  drew  forth  a  cigarette,  and  lit  it  at  the 


136         Hemming,  the  Adventurer 

nearest  candle.  "  As  to  being  shocked,"  he  replied, 
"  why,  I  used  to  know  a  girl  who  —  "he  stopped 
suddenly  and  glanced  down  at  his  coffee.  "  Of 
course  it  is  quite  the  thing  now,"  he  added,  in  stilted 
tones. 

Hicks  refused  a  cigarette  from  the  silver  case, 
and  moodily  puffed  at  a  black  native  cigar.  Mrs. 
Tetson  did  not  smoke,  but  entertained  the  others 
with  a  description  of  her  first  and  only  attempt  at 
the  recreation. 

The  little  wind  died  away.  Outside,  the  fountain 
splashed  sleepily.  The  blood-red  petal  fell  from 
the  girl's  arm  to  the  whiter  cloth.  A  flame-bewil- 
dered moth  bungled  into  the  President's  coffee. 
Hemming's  workaday  brain  was  lulled  to  repose, 
and  now  he  was  only  Hemming  the  poet.  He  looked 
into  the  eyes  across  the  table.  But  he  had  lived 
so  long  with  men,  and  the  foolish,  evident  affairs 
of  generals  and  statesmen,  that  Miss  Tetson's 
glances  were  as  weapons  for  which  he  knew  no 
manual  of  defence.  They  touched  him  more  than 
he  liked,  awaking  in  his  hitherto  disciplined  mem- 
ory a  hundred  fibres  of  broken  dreams.  And  every 
fibre  tingled  like  a  nerve  with  a  sweetness  sharp 
as  pain,  —  and  time  swung  back,  and  all  the  healing 
of  his  long  exile  was  undone. 

When  the  ladies  rose  from  the  table,  Mr.  Tetson 


The  Sporting  President  137 

came  over  to  Hemming  and  nudged  him  confiden- 
tially. He  looked  very  sly.  "  What  d'ye  say  to  a 
game  of  billiards  ?  "  he  whispered. 

"  Delighted,"  murmured  Hemming,  relieved  that 
his  strange  host  had  not  suggested  something  worse. 

"  I  like  the  game,"  continued  Tetson,  "  but  as 
Hicks  is  a  damn  fool  at  it,  I  don't  indulge  very 
often.  Hicks  is  too  young,  anyway,  —  a  nice  fel- 
low, but  altogether  too  young  for  men  to  associate 
with.  Trotting  'round  with  the  girls  is  more  in 
his  line." 

"  Really,"  remarked  the  newcomer,  uneasily.  He 
was  not  quite  sure  whether  or  not  Hicks  had  got 
out  of  ear-shot. 

"Fact,"  said  the  President,  — "  cold  truth. 
Marion  can't  play,  either.  I've  had  Santosa  up 
several  times  for  a  game,  but  he's  too  dashed  re- 
spectful to  beat  me.  You'll  not  be  that  way,  Hem- 
ming? " 

"  I  should  hope  not,"  replied  Hemming,  absently, 
his  eyes  still  turned  toward  the  door  through  which 
the  rest  of  the  party  had  vanished. 

"  What  d'ye  say  to  five  dollars  the  game?  "  Tet- 
son whispered.  The  adventurer's  heart  sank,  but 
he  followed  his  host  to  the  billiard-room  with  an 
unconcerned  air.  They  played  until  past  midnight, 
the  President  in  his  shirt-sleeves,  with  the  yellow 


138         Hemming,  the  Adventurer 

cigar  smouldering  always.  A  servant  marked  for 
them,  and  another  uncorked  the  soda-water.  After 
the  last  shot  had  been  made,  Valentine  Hicks  strolled 
in,  with  his  hands  in  his  pockets  and  his  brow 
clouded. 

"  Did  the  old  man  do  you  ?  "  he  inquired  of  Hem- 
ming. 

The  free-lance  shook  his  head.  "  I  took  ten 
pounds  away  from  him,"  he  said. 

The  secretary  whistled. 


CHAPTER    III. 

THE  POST  OF  HONOUR.  —  THE  SECRETARY'S  AFFAIR 

I 

HEMMING  awoke  with  a  clear  head,  despite  the 
President's  whiskey,  and  remembered,  with  satis- 
faction, the  extra  ten  pounds.  His  windows  were 
wide  open,  and  a  cool  dawn  wind  came  in  across 
the  gardens.  He  threw  aside  the  sheet  and  went 
over  to  the  middle  window,  and,  finding  that  the 
ledge  extended  to  form  a  narrow  balcony,  stepped 
outside.  Away  to  the  right,  he  could  mark  a  bend 
of  the  river  by  the  low-lying  mist.  He  sniffed  the 
air.  "  There  is  fever  in  it,"  he  said,  and  wondered 
how  many  kinds  of  a  fool  Mr.  Tetson  was.  He 
was  sorry  for  the  ladies.  They  did  not  look  like 
the  kind  of  people  to  enjoy  being  shut  away  from 
the  world  in  such  a  God-forsaken  hole  as  this.  Why 
didn't  the  old  ass  start  a  town  on  the  coast?  he 
asked  himself.  While  engaged  in  these  puzzling 
reflections,  Smith  rapped  at  the  door,  and  entered. 
He  carried  coffee,  a  few  slices  of  dry  toast,  and  a 
jug  of  shaving- water. 


140        Hemming,  the  Adventurer 

"  Will  you  ride  this  morning,  sir?  "  he  asked. 

"  Why,  yes,"  replied  Hemming-,  and  said  he 
would  be  shaved  before  drinking  his  coffee.  As 
the  valet  lathered  his  chin,  he  asked  if  the  Presi- 
dent rode  every  morning. 

"  Not  'e,  sir,"  replied  the  man,  "  but  Miss  Tetson 
does,  and  Mr.  'Icks." 

Hemming  found  his  well-worn  riding-breeches 
brushed  and  folded,  his  boots  and  spurs  shining 
like  the  sun,  and  a  new  cotton  tunic  ready  for  him. 
He  looked  his  surprise  at  sight  of  the  last  article. 

"  You  didn't  give  me  any  order,  sir,"  explained 
the  man,  "  but,  bein'  as  I'm  a  bit  of  a  tilor  myself, 
I  thought  as  'ow  you  wouldn't  mind  —  " 

Hemming  interrupted  him  with  uplifted  hand. 

"  It  was  very  kind  of  you,"  he  said,  "  and  I  am 
sure  it  is  an  excellent  fit.  See  if  you  can't  find  a 
sovereign  among  that  change  on  the  table." 

As  he  rode  through  the  great  gates,  Hemming 
caught  sight  of  Miss  Tetson  along  the  road.  At 
sound  of  his  horse's  hoofs,  she  turned  in  her  saddle 
and  waved  her  hand.  He  touched  his  little  white 
stallion  into  that  renowned  sliding  run  that  had 
made  it  famous  in  Pernambuco.  They  rode  to- 
gether for  over  an  hour.  Hicks  did  not  turn  out 
that  morning. 

Mr.  Valentine  Hicks  was  young,  and  an  Ameri- 


The  Post  of  Honour  141 

can.  Though  he  had  been  born  in  Boston,  he  lacked 
something  in  breeding,  —  a  very  shadowy  some- 
thing that  would  correct  itself  as  life  took  him  in 
hand.  Though  he  had  been  an  undergraduate  of 
Harvard  University  for  two  years,  he  displayed  to 
Hemming's  mind  a  childish  ignorance  of  men  and 
books.  No  doubt  he  had  practised  the  arts  of 
drop-kicking  and  tackling  with  distinction,  for  he 
was  big  and  well  muscled.  He  was  distantly  con- 
nected with  the  Tetsons,  and  had  joined  them  in 
Pernamba  soon  after  their  arrival  in  the  country, 
and  two  years  previous  to  the  opening  of  this  nar- 
rative, to  act  as  Tetson's  private  secretary.  At 
first  Mr.  Hicks  looked  with  suspicion  upon  the  wan- 
dering Englishman.  He  was  in  an  unsettled  frame 
of  mind  at  the  time,  poor  fellow.  He  saw  in  Hem- 
ming a  dangerous  rival  to  his  own  monopoly  of 
Miss  Tetson.  Already  the  lady  was  talking  about 
some  sort  of  book  the  duffer  had  written. 

A  few  days  after  Hemming's  arrival,  the  army, 
to  the  number  of  four  hundred  rank  and  file  and 
twenty-six  officers,  was  drawn  up  for  the  President's 
inspection.  Hemming  rode  with  Tetson,  and  the 
little  brown  soldiers  wondered  at  the  frosty  glitter 
of  his  eye-glass.  His  mount  was  the  same  upon 
which  he  had  entered  the  country,  —  a  white,  native- 
bred  stallion,  the  gift  of  one  McPhey,  a  merchant 


142         Hemming,  the  Adventurer 

in  Pernambuco.  Miss  Tetson  and  Hicks,  each  fol- 
lowed by  a  groom,  trotted  aimlessly  about  the  wait- 
ing ranks,  much  to  Hemming's  disgust.  Tetson 
lit  the  inevitable  yellow  weed. 

"  What  do  you  think  of  them  ?  "  he  asked,  wav- 
ing his  hand  toward  the  troops. 

"  They  look  to  me  as  if  they  were  stuffed  with 
bran,"  answered  the  Englishman,  "  and  their  forma- 
tion is  all  wrong." 

"  Ah,"  said  Tetson,  sadly  crestfallen. 

Presently  he  touched  Hemming's  knee. 

"  If  you  will  take  them  in  hand,  —  the  whole 
lopsided  consignment,  from  the  muddy-faced  colo- 
nel down,  —  why,  I'll  be  your  everlasting  friend," 
he  said. 

Hemming  stared  at  them,  pondering. 

"  It  will  mean  enemies  for  me,"  he  replied. 

"  No,  I  can  answer  for  everything  but  their  drill," 
said  the  other. 

Hemming  saluted,  and,  wheeling  the  white  stal- 
lion, rode  alone  up  and  down  the  uneven  ranks. 
His  face  was  set  in  severe  lines,  but  behind  the  mask 
lurked  mirth  and  derision  at  the  pettiness  of  his 
high-styled  office. 

"  Commander-in-chief,"  he  said,  and,  putting  his 
mount  to  a  canter,  completely  circled  his  command 
in  a  fraction  of  a  minute. 


The  Post  of  Honour  143 

"  I  shall  begin  to  lick  them  into  shape  to-mor- 
row," he  said  to  Tetson. 

The  little  officers,  clanging  their  big  cavalry  sa- 
bres, marched  their  little  brown  troops  away  to 
the  barracks.  The  President  looked  wistfully  after 
them,  and  said :  "  I  can  mount  three  hundred  of 
them,  Hemming.  I  call  it  a  pretty  good  army,  for 
all  its  lack  of  style." 

"  I  call  it  half  a  battalion  of  duffers,"  said  Hem- 
ming to  himself. 

Later,  the  new  commander-in-chief  and  the  pri- 
vate secretary  sat  together  in  the  former's  quarters. 

"  I  do  not  quite  understand  this  Pernamba  idea," 
said  Hemming.  "  Is  it  business,  or  is  it  just  an 
unusual  way  of  spending  money?" 

"  I  don't  know  what  the  old  man  is  driving  at 
myself,"  replied  Hicks,  "  but  of  one  thing  I  am  sure: 
there's  more  money  put  into  it  than  there  is  in  it. 
The  army  is  a  pretty  expensive  toy,  for  instance. 
Just  what  it  is  for  I  do  not  know.  The  only  job 
it  ever  tried  was  collecting  rents,  and  it  made  a 
mess  of  that.  We  don't  sell  enough  coffee  in  a  year 
to  stand  those  duffers  a  month's  pay.  We  get 
skinned  right  and  left  back  here  and  down  on  the 
coast.  Mr.  Tetson  thinks  he  still  possesses  a  clear 
business  head,  but  the  fact  is  he  cannot  understand 
his  own  bookkeeping.  It's  no  fun  runrfing  a  hun- 


144        Hemming,  the  Adventurer 

dred-square-mile  ranch,  with  a  fair-sized  town 
thrown  in." 

Hemming  wrinkled  his  forehead,  and  stared  va- 
cantly out  of  the  window.  Below  him  a  gray  parrot, 
the  property  of  Miss  Tetson,  squawked  in  an  orange- 
tree. 

"  If  I  had  money,  I  should  certainly  live  some- 
where else.  Why  the  devil  he  keeps  his  wife  and 
daughter  here,  I  don't  see." 

Just  then  the  secretary  caught  the  faint  strum- 
ming of  a  banjo,  and  left  hurriedly,  without  ventur- 
ing an  explanation.  He  found  Miss  Tetson  in  her 
favourite  corner  of  the  garden,  where  roses  grew 
thickest,  and  breadfruit-trees  made  a  canopy  of 
green  shade.  A  fountain  splashed  softly  beside 
the  stone  bench  whereon  she  sat,  and  near  by  stood 
a  little  brown  crane  watching  the  water  with  eyes 
like  yellow  jewels. 

The  girl  had  changed  from  her  riding-habit  into 
a  white  gown,  such  as  she  wore  almost  every  day. 
But  now  Hicks  saw  her  with  new  eyes.  She  seemed 
to  him  more  beautiful  than  he  had  dreamed  a 
woman  could  be.  Yesterday  he  had  thought,  in 
his  indolent  way,  that  he  loved  her.  Now  he  knew 
it,  and  his  heart  seemed  to  leap  and  pause  in  a  mad 
sort  of  fear.  The  look  of  well-fed  satisfaction 
passed  away  from  him.  He  stood  there  between  the 


The  Post  of  Honour  145 

roses  like  a  fool,  —  he  who  had  come  down  to  the 
garden  so  carelessly,  with  some  jest  on  his  lips. 

"  Something  will  happen  now,"  she  said,  and 
smiled  up  at  him.  Hicks  wondered  what  she  meant. 

"  It  is  too  hot  to  have  anything  happen,"  he 
replied. 

"  That  is  the  matter  with  us,  —  it  is  too  hot, 
always  too  hot,  and  we  are  too  tired,"  she  said, 
"  but  Mr.  Hemming  does  not  seem  to  mind  the  heat. 
I  think  that  something  interesting  will  happen  now." 

This  was  like  a  knife  in  the  man's  heart,  for  he 
was  learning  to  like  the  Englishman. 

The  girl  looked  at  the  little  crane  by  the  fountain. 
Hicks  stood  for  a  moment,  trying  to  smile.  But 
it  was  hard  work  to  look  as  if  he  did  not  care. 
"  Lord,  what  an  ass  I  have  been,"  he  said  to  himself, 
but  aloud  he  stammered  something  about  their  rides 
together,  and  their  friendship. 

"  Oh,  you  can  ride  very  well,"  she  laughed, 
"but  —  " 

She  did  not  finish  the  remark,  and  the  secretary, 
after  a  painful  scrutiny  of  the  silent  banjo  in  her 
lap,  went  away  to  the  stables  and  ordered  his  horse. 
But  a  man  is  a  fool  to  ride  hard  along  the  bank 
of  a  Brazilian  river  in  the  heat  of  the  afternoon. 

From  one  of  the  windows  of  his  cool  room,  Hem- 
ming watched  the  departure  of  the  President's  pri- 


146         Hemming,  the  Adventurer 

vate  secretary.  He  remembered  what  Tetson  had 
said  of  the  boy,  —  "  too  young  to  associate  with 
men." 

But  youth  is  a  thing  easily  mended,  thought 
Hemming.  Somehow  —  perhaps  only  in  size  — 
Hicks  recalled  O'Rourke  to  his  mind;  and  back  to 
him  came  the  days  of  their  good-comradeship.  He 
wondered  where  O'Rourke  was  now,  and  what  he 
was  busy  about.  He  had  seen  him  last  in  Labra- 
dor, where  they  had  spent  a  month  together,  salmon 
fishing,  and  up  to  that  time  O'Rourke  had  found 
no  trace  of  Miss  Hudson.  Ellis's  information  had 
proved  useless.  Disgusted  at  the  deception  prac- 
tised upon  him,  the  poor  fellow  had  ceased  to  speak 
of  the  matter,  even  with  his  dearest  friend  during 
night-watches  by  the  camp-fire. 


CHAPTER   IV. 

THE   THING  THAT   HAPPENED 

HICKS  came  along  the  homeward  road  at  dusk. 
Lights  were  glowing  above  the  strong  walls  and 
behind  the  straight  trunks  of  the  palms.  A  mist 
that  one  might  smell  lay  along  the  course  of  the 
river.  Hicks  rode  heavily  and  with  the  air  of  one 
utterly  oblivious  to  his  surroundings.  But  at  the 
gateway  of  the  officers'  mess  he  looked  up.  Cap- 
tain Santosa  was  in  the  garden,  a  vision  of  white 
and  gold  and  dazzling  smile.  He  hurried  to  the 
gate. 

"  Ah,  my  dear  Hicks,  you  are  in  time  for  our 
small  cocktails,  and  then  dinner.  But  for  this  riding 
so  hard,  I  can  call  you  nothing  but  a  fool." 

"  Thanks  very  much,"  replied  the  American,  dis- 
mounting slowly,  "  and  as  to  what  you  call  me, 
old  man,  I'm  not  at  all  particular."  The  woe- 
begone expression  of  his  plump  face  was  almost 
ludicrous. 

Santosa  whistled,  and  presently  an  orderly  came 


148         Hemming,  the  Adventurer 

and  took  Valentine's  horse.  The  two  entered  the 
building  arm  in  arm,  and  the  secretary  swayed  as 
he  walked. 

Five  or  six  of  the  native  officers  were  already  in 
the  mess-room,  swallowing  mild  swizzles,  and  talk- 
ing quietly.  They  greeted  Hicks  affectionately. 

"  This  man,"  said  Santosa,  "  had  his  horse  look- 
ing like  a  shaving-brush,  and  I  know  nothing  in 
English  so  suitable  to  call  him  as  this,"  and  he 
swore  vigorously  in  Portuguese. 

"  Stow  that  rot,"  said  Hicks,  "  can't  you  see  I'm 
fit  as  a  fiddle;  and  for  Heaven's  sake  move  some 
liquor  my  way,  will  you  ?  "  His  request  was  speed- 
ily complied  with,  and  he  helped  himself  recklessly 
from  the  big  decanter. 

The  dinner  was  long  and  hot,  and  Valentine 
Hicks,  forgetting  utterly  his  Harvard  manner, 
dropped  his  head  on  the  table,  between  his  claret- 
glass  and  coffee-cup,  and  dreamed  beastly  dreams. 
The  swarthy  Brazilians  talked  and  smoked,  and 
sent  away  the  decanters  to  be  refilled.  The  stifling 
air  held  the  tobacco  smoke  above  the  table.  The 
cotton-clad  servants  moved  on  noiseless  feet. 

"  These  Americans,  —  dear  heaven,"  spoke  a  fat 
major,  softly. 

"  I  am  fond  of  Hicks,"  said  Santosa,  laying  his 
hand  on  the  youth's  unconscious  shoulder.  A 


The  Thing  That  Happened       149 

slim  lieutenant,  who  had  held  a  commission  in  a 
Brazilian  regiment  stationed  in  Rio,  looked  at  the 
captain. 

"  The  Americans  are  harmless,"  he  said.  "  They 
mind  their  own  business,  —  or  better  still,  they  let 
us  mind  it  for  them.  The  President  —  bah !  And 
our  dear  Valentine.  If  he  gets  enough  to  eat,  and 
clothes  cut  in  the  English  way,  and  some  one  to 
listen  to  his  little  stories  of  how  he  used  to  play 
golf  at  Harvard,  he  is  content.  But  this  English- 
man, —  this  Sefior  Hemming,  —  he  is  quite  differ- 
ent." 

"Did  not  you  at  one  time  play  golf?"  asked 
Santosa,  calmly. 

"  Three  times,  in  Florida,"  replied  the  lieutenant, 
"  and  with  me  played  a  lady,  who  talked  at  her 
ease  and  broKe  two  clubs  in  one  morning.  She  was 
of  a  fashionable  convent  named  Smith,  but  this  did 
not  deter  her  from  the  free  expression  of  her 
thoughts." 

"  Stir  up  Sefior  Hicks,  that  we  may  hear  two 
fools  at  the  same  time,"  said  the  colonel. 

"  Take  my  word  for  it,  colonel,  that  Valentine 
is  not  a  fool,"  said  Santosa,  lightly.  "  He  is  very 
young." 

"  Have  you  nothing  to  say  for  me?  "  asked  the 
slim  lieutenant,  good-naturedly. 


150        Hemming,  the  Adventurer 

"  You  know  what  I  think  of  you  all,"  replied 
Santosa,  without  heat.  The  conversation  was  car- 
ried on  in  Portuguese,  and  now  ran  into  angry  sur- 
mises as  to  the  President's  reason  for  placing  Hem- 
ming in  command. 

It  was  close  upon  midnight  when  Hicks  awoke. 
He  straightened  himself  in  his  chair  and  blinked 
at  Santosa,  who  alone,  of  the  whole  mess,  remained 
at  table. 

"  You  have  had  a  little  nap,"  said  the  Brazilian. 

Hicks  looked  at  him  for  awhile  in  silence.  Then 
he  got  to  his  feet,  and  leaned  heavily  on  the  table. 

"  I'll  walk  home,  old  tea-cosey.  Tell  your  nigger 
to  give  my  gee  something  to  eat,  will  you  ?  " 

"  You  do  not  look  well,  my  dear  Valentine.  You 
had  better  stay  here  until  morning,"  said  Santosa. 

Hicks  swore,  and  then  begged  the  other's  pardon. 

"  Am  I  drunk,  old  chap?  Do  I  look  that  way?  " 
he  asked. 

Captain  Santosa  laughed.  "  You  look  like  a  man 
with  a  grudge  against  some  one,"  he  answered. 
"  Perhaps  you  have  a  touch  of  fever,  otherwise  I 
know  you  would  have  good  taste  enough  to  conceal 
the  grudge.  A  gentleman  suffers  —  and  smiles." 

It  was  past  two  o'clock  in  the  morning,  and 
Hemming  was  lying  flat  on  his  back,  smoking  a 
cigarette  in  the  dark.  He  had  been  writing  verses, 


The  Thing  That  Happened        151 

and  letters  which  he  did  not  intend  to  mail,  until 
long  past  midnight.  And  now  he  lay  wide-eyed 
on  his  bed,  kept  awake  by  the  restless  play  of  his 
thoughts. 

His  windows  were  all  open,  and  he  could  hear  a 
stirring  of  wind  in  the  crests  of  the  taller  trees. 
His  reveries  were  disturbed  by  a  stumbling  of  feet 
in  the  room  beyond,  and  suddenly  Valentine  Hicks 
stood  in  the  doorway.  By  the  faint  light  Hem- 
ming made  out  the  big,  drooping  shoulders  and 
the  attitude  of  weariness.  He  sat  up  quickly,  and 
pushed  his  feet  into  slippers. 

"That  you,  Hicks?"  he  asked. 

"  Don't  talk  to  me,  you  damn  traitor ! "  said 
Hicks. 

Hemming  frowned,  and  tossed  his  cigarette  into 
the  night. 

"  If  you  will  be  so  good  as  to  turn  on  the  light, 
I'll  get  the  quinine,"  he  said. 

The  secretary  laughed. 

"  Quinine !  "  he  cried ;  "  you  fool !  I  believe  an 
Englishman  would  recommend  some  blasted  medi- 
cine to  a  man  in  hell." 

"You're  not  there  yet,"  replied  Hemming.  He 
was  bending  over  an  open  drawer  of  his  desk,  feel- 
ing about  among  papers  and  bottles  for  the  box 


152         Hemming,  the  Adventurer 

of  pills.  Hicks  drew  something  from  his  pocket 
and  laid  it  softly  on  the  table. 

"  Good  morning,"  he  said.  "  I  intended  to  kick 
up  a  row  but  I've  changed  my  mind.  Hand  over 
your  pills  and  I'll  go  to  bed." 

When  he  awoke  next  day,  it  was  only  to  a  foolish 
delirium.  The  doctor  looked  at  him,  and  then  at 
Hemming. 

"  I  suppose  you  can  give  it  a  name,"  he  said. 

Hemming  nodded. 

"  I've  had  it  myself,"  he  replied. 

The  President,  followed  by  his  daughter,  came 
into  the  room.  Hicks  recognized  the  girl. 

"  Marion,"  he  said,  and  when  she  bent  over  him, 
"  something  has  happened  after  all." 

She  looked  up  at  Hemming  with  a  colourless  face. 
Her  eyes  were  brave  enough,  but  the  pitiful  expres- 
sion of  her  mouth  touched  him  with  a  sudden  pain- 
ful remembrance.  During  the  hours  of  daylight 
the  doctor  and  Miss  Tetson  watched  by  the  bedside, 
moving  silently  and  speaking  in  whispers  in  the 
darkened  room. 

The  doctor  was  an  Englishman  somewhat  beyond 
middle  age,  with  a  past  well  buried.  In  the  streets 
and  on  the  trail  his  manner  was  short  almost  to 
rudeness.  He  often  spoke  bitterly  and  lightly  of 
those  things  which  most  men  love  and  respect.  In 


The  Thing  That  Happened       153 

the  sick-room,  be  it  in  the  rich  man's  villa  or  in 
the  mud  hut  of  the  plantation  labourer,  he  spoke 
softly,  and  his  hands  were  gentle  as  a  woman's. 

Hemming  had  been  working  with  his  little  army 
all  day,  and,  after  dining  at  the  mess,  he  changed 
and  relieved  Miss  Tetson  and  the  doctor.  Before 
leaving  the  room,  the  girl  turned  to  him  nervously. 

"  Did  you  see  Valentine  last  night?  "  she  asked. 

Hemming  told  her  that  Hicks  had  come  to  his 
room  for  quinine. 

"  Good  night,  and  please  take  good  care  of  him," 
she  said. 

The  Englishman  screwed  his  eye-glass  into  place, 
and  glared  at  her  uneasily.  "  Hicks  is  a  good  sort," 
he  said,  "  but  he  is  not  the  kind  for  this  country. 
Neither  are  you,  Miss  Tetson.  But  it's  nuts  for  me, 
—  this  playing  soldier  at  another  man's  expense." 

He  paused,  and  she  waited,  a  little  impatiently, 
for  him  to  go  on.  "  What  I  wanted  to  say,"  he 
continued,  "  is  that  there  is  one  thing  that  goes 
harder  with  a  man  than  yellow  fever.  I  —  ah  — 
have  experienced  both.  Hicks  is  a  decent  chap," 
he  concluded,  lamely. 

Miss  Tetson  smiled  and  held  out  her  hand. 

"If  he  should  want  me  in  the  night,  please  call 
me.  I  will  not  be  asleep,"  she  said. 

Hemming,  for  all  his  rolling,  had  gathered  a  good 


154        Hemming,  the  Adventurer 

deal  of  moss  in  the  shape  of  handiness  and  out-of- 
the-way  knowledge.  Twice  during  the  night  he 
bathed  the  sick  man  with  ice  and  alcohol.  Many 
times  he  lifted  the  burning  head  and  held  water 
to  the  hot  lips.  Sometimes  he  talked  to  him,  very 
low,  of  the  North  and  the  blue  sea,  and  thus  brought 
sleep  back  to  the  glowing  eyes.  The  windows  were 
open  and  the  blinds  up,  and  a  white  moon  walked 
above  the  gardens. 

Just  before  dawn,  Hemming  dozed  for  a  few 
minutes  in  his  chair.  He  was  awakened  by  some 
movement,  and,  opening  his  eyes,  beheld  Miss  Tet- 
son  at  the  bedside.  Hicks  was  sleeping,  with  his 
tired  face  turned  toward  the  window.  The  girl 
touched  his  forehead  tenderly  with  her  lips. 

Hemming  closed  his  eyes  again,  and  kept  them  so 
until  he  heard  her  leave  the  room,  —  a  few  light 
footsteps  and  a  soft  trailing  of  skirts.  Then,  in  his 
turn,  he  bent  above  the  sleeper. 

"  If  this  takes  you  off,  old  chap,  perhaps  it  will 
be  better,"  he  said. 

But  in  his  inmost  soul  he  did  not  believe  this 
bitter  distrust  of  women  that  his  own  brain  had 
built  up  for  him  out  of  memory  and  weariness. 


CHAPTER   V. 

CHANCE   IN    PERNAMBUCO 

WHILE  Hicks  tossed  about  in  his  fever  dreams, 
and  Hemming  shook  his  command  into  form,  away 
on  the  coast,  in  the  city  of  Pernambuco,  unusual 
things  were  shaping.  From  the  south,  coastwise 
from  Bahia,  came  Bertram  St.  Ives  O'Rourke.  This 
was  chance,  pure  and  simple,  for  he  had  no  idea  of 
Hemming' s  whereabouts.  From  New  York,  on  the 
mail-steamer,  came  a  man  called  Cuddlehead,  and 
took  up  his  abode  in  a  narrow  hotel  near  the  water- 
front. He  arrived  in  the  city  only  an  hour  behind 
O'Rourke.  He  was  artfully  attired  in  yachting 
garb,  and  had  been  king-passenger  on  the  boat, 
where  his  English  accent  had  been  greatly  admired, 
and  his  predilection  for  card-playing  had  been  boun- 
tifully rewarded.  In  fact,  when  he  went  ashore  with 
his  meagre  baggage,  he  left  behind  at  least  one 
mourning  maiden  heart  and  three  empty  pockets. 

O'Rourke,  upon  landing,  had  his  box  and  three 
leather  bags  carried  across  the  square  to  the  ship- 


156        Hemming,  the  Adventurer 

chandler's.  He  would  look  about  before  engaging 
a  room,  and  see  if  the  place  contained  enough  local 
colour  to  pay  for  a  stop-over.  He  fell,  straightway, 
into  easy  and  polite  conversation  with  the  owner 
of  the  store.  From  the  busy  pavement  and  dirty 
square  outside  arose  odours  that  were  not  altogether 
foreign  to  his  cosmopolitan  nose.  Three  men  greeted 
one  another,  and  did  business  in  English  and  Por- 
tuguese, speaking  of  the  cane  crop,  the  rate  of  ex- 
change, the  price  of  Newfoundland  "  fish,"  and  of 
gales  met  with  at  sea.  Bullock-carts  creaked  past 
in  the  aching  sunlight,  the  mild-eyed  beasts  stagger- 
ing with  lowered  heads.  Soldiers  in  uncomfortable 
uniforms  lounged  about.  Cripples  exhibited  their 
ugly  misfortunes,  and  beggars  made  noisy  suppli- 
cation. 

O'Rourke  decided  that  there  was  enough  local 
colour  to  keep  him,  and,  turning  from  the  open  door, 
contemplated  the  interior  of  the  establishment.  The 
place  was  dim  and  cool,  and  at  the  far  back  of  it 
another  door  stood  open,  on  a  narrow  cross-street. 
Cases  of  liquor,  tobacco,  tea,  coffee,  and  condensed 
milk  were  piled  high  against  the  wall.  Baskets  of 
sweet  potatoes  and  hens'  eggs  stood  about.  Upon 
shelves  behind  the  counter  samples  of  rope,  canvas, 
and  cotton  cloth  were  exhibited.  Highly  coloured 
posters,  advertising  Scotch  whiskey,  brightened  the 


Chance  in  Pernambuco  157 

gloom.  The  back  part  of  the  shop  was  furnished 
with  a  bar  and  two  long  tables.  At  one  of  the  tables 
sat  about  a  dozen  men,  each  with  a  glass  before  him, 
and  all  laughing,  talking,  swearing,  and  yet  keeping 
their  eyes  attentively  fixed  on  one  of  their  number, 
who  shook  a  dice-box. 

O'Rourke,  who  had  by  this  time  made  his  name 
known  to  the  ship-chandler,  was  given  a  general  in- 
troduction to  the  dice-throwers.  He  called  for  a 
lime-squash,  and  took  a  seat  at  the  table  between  a 
dissipated-looking  individual  whom  all  addressed 
by  the  title  of  "  Major,"  and  a  master-mariner  from 
the  North.  There  were  several  of  these  shellback 
skippers  at  table,  and  O'Rourke  spotted  them 
easily  enough,  though,  to  the  uninitiated,  they  had 
nothing  in  common  but  their  weather-beaten  faces. 
Their  manners  were  of  various  degrees,  running 
from  the  height  of  civility  around  to  nothing  at  all. 
There  was  the  first  officer  of  a  Liverpool  "  tramp  " 
with  his  elbows  on  the  board,  his  gin-and-bitters 
slopped  about,  and  his  voice  high  in  argument.  Next 
him  sat  a  mariner  from  one  of  the  Fundy  ports, 
nodding  and  starting,  and  trying  to  bury  in  whiskey 
remembrance  of  his  damaged  cargo  and  unseaworthy 
ship.  Nearer  sat  a  Devonshire  man  in  the  New- 
foundland trade,  drinking  his  sweetened  claret  with 
all  the  graces  of  a  curate,  and  talking  with  the 


158         Hemming,  the  Adventurer 

polish  and  conviction  of  a  retired  banker.  O'Rourke 
glanced  up  and  down  the  table,  and  detected  one 
more  sailor  —  a  quiet  young  man  clad  in  white  duck, 
with  "  Royal  Naval  Reserve  "  marked  upon  him  for 
the  knowing  to  see.  These  four  men  (each  one  so 
unlike  the  other  three  in  clothes,  appearance,  and 
behaviour)  all  wore  the  light  of  wide  waters  in  their 
eyes,  the  peace  bred  of  long  night-watches  on  their 
tanned  brows,  and  the  right  to  command  on  chin 
and  jaw.  O'Rourke  felt  his  heart  warm  toward 
them,  for  he,  too,  had  kept  vigil  beside  the  ghostly 
mizzen,  and  read  the  compass  by  the  uncertain  torch 
of  the  lightning. 

The  other  occupants  of  the  table  were  residents 
of  the  country  —  two  English  planters,  the  major, 
a  commission-merchant,  a  native  cavalry  officer,  and 
several  operators  of  the  South  American  Cable  Com- 
pany. The  major  remarked  upon  the  rotten  state  of 
the  country  to  O'Rourke,  in  a  confidential  whisper,  as 
he  shook  the  dice  in  the  leather  cylinder.  O'Rourke 
replied,  politely,  that  he  wasn't  an  authority. 

"  But  I  am,  sir,"  blustered  the  major.  "  Dear 
heaven,  man,  I'd  like  to  know  who  has  been  Amer- 
ican consul  in  this  hole  for  the  last  seven  years,  only 
to  get  chucked  out  last  May  by  a  low  plebeian 
politician." 

The  speaker's  eyes  were  fierce,  though  watery,  and 


Chance  in  Pernambuco  159 

his  face  was  red  as  the  sun  through  smoke.  He 
drained  his  glass,  and  glared  at  O'Rourke, 

"  Couldn't  say.  Never  was  here  before,"  replied 
O'Rourke.  He  counted  his  neighbour's  throw  aloud, 
for  the  benefit  of  the  table. 

"  Three  aces,  a  six,  and  a  five." 

He  was  about  to  recover  two  of  the  dice  from  a 
shallow  puddle  on  the  table,  and  replace  them  in 
the  box,  when  he  felt  a  hand  on  his  arm. 

"  I  was  American  consul,"  hissed  the  major,  "  and, 
by  hell,  I'm  still  sober  enough  to  count  my  own  dice, 
and  pick  'em  up,  too." 

O'Rourke  smiled,  unruffled.  "  You  don't  mean 
you  are  sober  enough,  major  —  you  mean  you  are 
not  quite  too  drunk,"  he  said.  The  others  paused 
in  their  talk,  and  laughed.  The  major  opened  his 
eyes  a  trifle  wider  and  dropped  his  under  jaw.  He 
looked  the  young  stranger  up  and  down. 

"  Well,  I  hope  you  are  ashamed  of  yourself,"  he 
said,  at  last. 

"  I  am  sorry  I  was  rude,  sir,"  explained  O'Rourke, 
"  but  I  hate  to  be  grabbed  by  the  arm  that  way.  I 
must  have  a  nerve  there  that  connects  with  my  tern- 
per." 

A  tipsy  smile  spread  over  the  ex-consul's  face. 

"  Shake  hands,  my  boy,"  he  cried.  They  shook 
hands.  The  others  craned  their  necks  to  see. 


160         Hemming,  the  Adventurer 

"  You've  come  just  in  time  to  cheer  me  up,  for 
I've  been  lonely  since  Hemming  went  into  the  bush," 
exclaimed  the  major. 

"  Hemming !  Do  you  mean  Herbert  Hemming?  " 
asked  O'Rourke,  eagerly. 

"  That's  who  I  mean,"  replied  the  major,  and 
pushed  the  dice-box  toward  him.  O'Rourke  made 
nothing  better  than  a  pair,  and  had  to  pay  for  thir- 
teen drinks.  If  you  crave  a  lime-squash  of  an  after- 
noon, the  above  method  is  not  always  the  cheapest 
way  of  acquiring  it.  As  the  dice-box  went  the 
rounds  again,  and  the  attention  of  the  company  re- 
turned to  generalities,  the  newcomer  asked  more  par- 
ticulars of  Hemming's  whereabouts. 

"  He  started  into  the  bush  more  than  a  week  ago, 
to  find  some  new  kind  of  adventure  and  study  the 
interior,  he  said,"  explained  the  major,  "  but  my 
own  opinion  is  that  he  went  to  see  old  Tetson  in  his 
place  up  the  Plado.  Sly  boy,  Hemming !  Whenever 
we  spoke  of  that  crazy  Tetson,  and  his  daughter, 
and  his  money,  he  pretended  not  to  take  any  stock 
in  them.  But  I'll  eat  my  hat  —  and  it's  the  only 
one  I  have  —  if  he  isn't  there  at  this  minute,  flash- 
ing that  precious  gig-lamp  of  his  at  the  young  lady." 

O'Rourke  had  read  stories  about  this  eccentric 
millionaire  in  the  newspapers  some  years  before. 


Chance  in   Pernambuco  161 

"  Hemming  is  safe,  wherever  he  lands,"  he  said. 
"  He's  a  woman-hater." 

A  look  of  half- whimsical  disgust  flashed  across 
the  old  man's  perspiring  face.  He  leaned  close  to 
O'Rourke. 

"  Bah  —  you  make  me  sick,"  he  cried,  "  with  your 
silly  commonplaces.  Woman-hater  —  bah  —  any 
fool,  any  schoolboy  can  say  that.  Call  a  man  an 
ice-riding  pinapede,  and  you'll  display  the  virtue  of 
originality,  at  least.  At  first  I  suspected  you  of 
brains." 

O'Rourke  was  embarrassed.  How  could  he  ex- 
plain that,  in  using  the  term  woman-hater,  he  had 
meant  to  suit  his  conversation  to  the  intellect  of  his 
hearer.  It  was  commonplace,  without  doubt,  and 
meant  nothing  at  all. 

"  Do  you  think,  Mr.  O'Rourke,"  continued  the 
other,  "  that  simply  because  I'm  stranded  in  this  hole, 
on  my  beam-ends  (to  use  the  language  of  our 
worthy  table-mates),  that  my  brain  is  past  being 
offended?  You  are  wrong,  then,  my  boy,  just  as 
sure  as  my  name  is  Farrington.  Hemming  would 
never  have  called  a  man  a  woman-hater.  Why,  here 
am  I,  sir,  sitting  as  I  have  sat  every  day  for  years, 
getting  drunk,  and  with  never  a  word  to  a  woman, 
white  or  black,  for  about  as  long  as  you  have  used 
a  razor.  But  I  don't  hate  women  —  not  I.  I'd 


1 62         Hemming,  the  Adventurer 

give  my  life,  such  as  it  is,  any  minute,  for  the  first 
woman  who  would  look  at  me  without  curling  her 
lip  —  that  is,  the  first  well-bred  white  woman.  Ask 
Hemming  what  he  thinks,  and  he  will  tell  you  that, 
in  spite  of  the  men,  women  are  still  the  finest  crea- 
tures God  ever  invented.  No  doubt  he  seems  in- 
different now,  but  that's  because  he  has  loved  some 
girl  very  much,  and  has  been  hurt  by  her." 

"  You  are  right,  major,  and  I  gladly  confess  I 
used  a  dashed  stupid  expression  —  so  now,  if  you 
don't  mind,  please  shut  up  about  it,"  replied 
O'Rourke.  To  his  surprise  Farrington  smiled, 
nodded  in  a  knowing  way,  and  lapsed  into  silence. 

While  one  of  the  mariners  was  relating  a  fear- 
some experience  of  his  own  on  a  wrecked  schooner, 
Mr.  Cuddlehead  entered  the  place  and  seated  himself 
at  the  unoccupied  table.  He  sipped  his  peg,  and 
studied  the  men  at  the  other  table  with  shifting 
glances.  He  thought  they  looked  easy,  and  a  vastly 
satisfied  expression  came  to  his  unhealthy,  old- 
young  face.  Though  well  groomed  and  well  clothed, 
Mr.  Cuddlehead's  deportment  suggested,  however 
vaguely,  a  feeling  on  his  part  of  personal  insecurity. 
He  glanced  apprehensively  whenever  a  voice  was 
raised  high  in  argument.  He  started  in  his  chair 
when  the  man  who  served  the  refreshments  came 
unexpectedly  to  his  table  to  deposit  a  match-holder. 


Chance  in  Pernambuco  163 

To  O'Rourke,  who  had  an  eye  for  things  beyond 
the  dice,  Mr.  Cuddlehead's  face  hinted  at  some 
strange  ways  of  life,  and  undesirable  traits  of  char- 
acter. In  the  loose  mouth  he  saw  signs  of  a  once 
colossal  impudence;  in  the  bloated  cheeks,  dissipa- 
tion and  the  wrecking  existence  of  one  who  feasts 
to-day  and  starves  to-morrow;  in  the  eyes  cruelty 
and  cunning;  in  the  chin  and  forehead  a  low  sort 
of  courage. 

Gradually  the  crowd  at  the  long  table  thinned. 
First  of  all  the  cavalry  officer  arose,  flicked  imag- 
inary dust  off  the  front  of  his  baggy  trousers,  and 
jangled  out  into  the  reddening  sunlight.  The 
planters  followed,  after  hearty  farewells.  They  had 
long  rides  ahead  of  them  to  occupy  the  cool  of  the 
evening,  and  perhaps  would  not  leave  their  isolated 
bungalows  again  inside  a  fortnight.  Next  the 
operators  announced  their  intentions  of  deserting  the 
giddy  scene. 

"  Come  along,  major,  you  and  Joyce  promised 
to  feed  with  us  to-night,"  said  one  of  them,  "  and 
if  your  friend  there,  Mr.  O'Rourke,  will  overlook 
the  informality  of  so  sudden  an  invitation,"  he  con- 
tinued, "  we'll  be  delighted  to  have  him,  too." 

"  Great  heavens,  Darlington,"  exclaimed  the 
major,  "  you  are  still  as  long-winded  as  when  you 
first  came  out,"  and,  before  O'Rourke  could  accept 


164        Hemming,  the  Adventurer 

the  invitation  for  himself,  he  concluded,  "  of  course 
O'Rourke  will  honour  you,  my  boy." 

"  Thank  you,  very  much,  it's  awfully  good  of  you 
chaps,"  stammered  O'Rourke,  disconcerted  by  the 
major's  offhand  manner. 

Darlington  smiled  reassuringly.  "  Don't  let  this 
old  cock  rattle  you,"  he  said,  and  patted  Major 
Farrington  affectionately  on  the  shoulder. 

After  dinner  that  night,  in  the  palatial  dining- 
room  of  the  house  occupied  by  the  staff  of  the  South 
American  Cable  Company,  O'Rourke  learned  some- 
thing of  the  major's  past  life.  It  was  a  sad  and  un- 
edifying  story.  The  major  had  been  trained  at 
West  Point,  and  led  his  class  in  scholarship  and 
drill,  and  had  risen,  with  more  than  one  distinction, 
to  the  rank  of  major.  But  all  the  while  he  had  made 
his  fight  against  drink,  as  well  as  the  usual  handicaps 
in  the  game  of  life.  He  had  married  a  woman  with 
wealth  and  position  superior  to  his  own,  who  had 
admired  him  for  his  soldierly  qualities  and  fine  ap- 
pearance, and  who,  later,  had  been  the  first  to  desert 
him.  Then  followed  the  foreign  consular  appoint- 
ments, the  bitter  and  ever-increasing  debaucheries, 
and  at  last  the  forced  retirement  from  his  country's 
service.  Now  he  lived  on  a  small  allowance,  sent 
him  weekly,  by  his  family.  O'Rourke  began  to 


Chance  in  Pernambuco  165 

understand  the  old  man's  fretful  and  disconcerting 
moods. 

At  a  late  hour  the  superintendent  of  the  staff 
ushered  O'Rourke  to  a  big,  cool  room  on  the  second 
floor. 

"  Make  this  your  home,"  he  said,  "  and  we'll  let 
you  in  on  the  same  footing  as  ourselves.  Hemming 
occupied  this  room  last.  There  is  his  bed;  there 
is  his  hammock ;  and,  by  Jove,  there  are  his  slippers. 
You  can  have  your  traps  brought  up  in  the  morn- 
ing." 

Thus  did  Bertram  St.  Ives  O'Rourke  become  an 
inmate  of  an  imposing  mansion  in  Pernambuco,  with 
moderate  charges  to  pay  and  good  company  to  en- 
liven his  hours. 


CHAPTER   VI. 

CUDDLEHEAD   DECIDES   ON    AN   ADVENTURE 

TOWARD  noon  of  a  stifling  day,  the  major  and 
Mr.  Cuddlehead  met  in  the  square  by  the  water- 
front. Cuddlehead  greeted  the  major  affably.  As 
the  major  was  very  thirsty  he  returned  the  saluta- 
tion. A  glance  through  the  door  at  his  elbow  dis- 
played, to  Mr.  Cuddlehead's  uncertain  eyes,  a  num- 
ber of  round  tables  with  chairs  about  them.  He  took 
out  his  watch  and  examined  it. 

"  Eleven-thirty  —  I  always  take  something  at 
half-past  eleven.  I  hope  you  will  join  me,"  he  said. 

"  I  seldom  drink  before  lunch,"  replied  Farring- 
ton,  "  but  as  this  is  an  exceptionally  dry  day  —  " 

They  passed  through  the  doorway  and  sat  down 
at  the  nearest  table. 

"  Now  I  will  find  out  what  is  doing,"  thought  Cud- 
dlehead, and  gave  his  order.  But  for  a  long  time 
the  major's  tongue  refused  to  be  loosened.  He 
sipped  his  liquor,  and  watched  his  companion  with 
eyes  of  unfriendly  suspicion.  Cuddlehead,  in  the 

166 


Cuddlehead  Decides  on  an  Adventure   167 

meantime,  exhibited  an  excellent  temper,  put  a  few 
casual  questions,  and  chatted  about  small  things  of 
general  interest. 

Now  Cuddlehead  had  heard,  from  the  captain  of 
the  mail-boat,  something  about  a  wealthy  American 
with  a  bee  in  his  bonnet  and  a  pretty  daughter,  some- 
where within  reach  of  Pernambuco,  The  story  had 
grown  upon  him,  and  a  great  idea  had  taken  shape 
in  his  scheming  mind.  Why  shouldn't  he,  if  all  that 
people  said  and  wrote  about  American  girls  was 
true?  By  gad,  he'd  make  a  shot  at  it.  He'd  show 
them  how  to  spend  their  money  in  more  interesting 
places  than  the  back  of  nowhere.  As  soon  as  the 
major  began  to  look  more  friendly,  under  the  in- 
fluence of  the  crude  whiskey,  he  produced  his  cigar- 
case,  —  a  fat  black  leather  affair,  with  an  engraved 
silver  plate  on  the  front  of  it,  —  and  offered  the 
old  man  an  excellent  weed  of  Havana.  The  major 
took  it,  glancing  keenly,  but  swiftly,  at  the  initials 
on  the  case  as  he  did  so.  "  P.  doesn't  stand  for 
Cuddlehead,"  he  thought,  but  said  nothing. 

"  Tell  me  something  about  the  man  who  owns 
a  whole  country,  somewhere  back  here,  in  the  bush," 
urged  Cuddlehead,  lightly.  The  old  man's  muddled 
wits  awoke  and  jerked  a  warning.  Here  was  some 
scum  of  Heaven  knows  where,  wanting  to  interfere 
in  a  better  man's  business. 


1 68         Hemming,  the  Adventurer 

"  What's  that,  my  boy  ? "  he  asked,  looking 
stupidly  interested. 

"  Oh,  it  is  of  no  importance.  It  just  struck  me 
as  being  a  bit  out  of  the  way,"  replied  the  other. 

"  What?  "  inquired  the  major. 

"  The  place  Mr.  Tetson  hangs  out,"  laughed  Cud- 
dlehead. 

"  It's  all  that,  my  boy,"  replied  Farrington,  glee- 
fully; then  he  stared,  open-mouthed.  "At  least," 
he  added,  "  it  may  be,  but  what  the  hell  are  you 
gabbing  about?  " 

"  Sorry.  Had  no  idea  it  was  a  secret,"  retorted 
the  younger  man. 

The  major's  potations  flooded  to  his  head.  His 
face  took  on  a  darker  shade  of  crimson.  His  hands 
twitched  on  the  table. 

"  Secrets !  You  d — n  little  sneak,"  he  roared,  stag- 
gering up  and  overturning  his  chair.  The  expres- 
sion of  insolence  faded  from  Cuddlehead's  face.  He 
dashed  out  of  the  place  without  paying  for  the  bottle 
of  whiskey.  On  the  pavement  he  paused,  long 
enough  to  compose  his  features  and  straighten  his 
necktie.  Then  he  went  to  the  ship-chandler  and 
gathered  a  wealth  of  information  concerning  Harris 
William  Tetson.  But  he  heard  no  mention  of 
Hemming  being  in  the  country,  which  was,  perhaps, 
just  as  well.  He  was  certainly  a  sneak,  as  more 


Cuddlehead  Decides  on  an  Adventure   169 

than  the  major  had  called  him,  but  he  was  not  alto- 
gether a  duffer.  He  could  look  after  himself  to  a 
certain  extent.  He  decided  to  keep  Pernambuco 
until  later,  and  go  now  for  bigger  game.  He  made 
his  plans  speedily,  fearing  another  meeting  with  the 
major,  and  early  next  morning  started  along  the 
coast,  inside  the  reef,  as  a  passenger  aboard  a  native 
barcassa.  The  voyage  to  the  mouth  of  the  river 
Plado  would  take  the  better  part  of  a  day.  He 
would  wait  in  the  little  village  for  Mr.  Tetson's 
steam-launch,  which  made  weekly  runs  to  the  coast 
for  mail  and  supplies. 


CHAPTER   VII. 

HEMMING    LEARNS    SOMETHING    ABOUT     HIS    ARMY 

IN  Pernamba,  up  the  Plado,  life  had  taken  on 
a  brighter  aspect  for  at  least  two  of  the  inhabitants. 
Marion  Tetson  was  thankful  beyond  the  power  of 
speech,  because  the  fever  had  left  Hicks.  True,  it 
had  left  him  thin  and  weak  as  a  baby,  but  his  very 
helplessness  made  him  dearer  in  her  eyes.  That 
one  who  had  been  so  big"  and  strong  should  ask 
her  to  lift  his  head  whenever  he  wanted  a  drink, 
and  should  have  his  pillow  turned  for  him  without 
displaying  a  sign  of  rebellion,  stabbed  her  to  the 
innermost  soul  with  wonder  and  pity.  Hicks  was 
happy  because  she  was  near  him  all  day,  her  eyes 
telling  what  her  lips  were  longing  to  say,  if  his 
dared  to  question.  Then  he  could  half  remember 
some  things  which  were  as  part  of  his  dreaming  — 
wonderful,  magic  things  with  all  the  glamour  of 
dreams,  free  from  the  weariness  of  the  fever.  But 
he  said  nothing  of  these  just  then  to  Marion,  though 
she  read  his  thoughts  lil:e  a  book  while  he  lay  there 

170 


Learns  About  His  Army          171 

very  quiet,  smiling  a  little,  his  gaze  following  her 
every  movement.  To  Hemming  also  he  wore  his 
heart  on  his  sleeve.  Of  this  fact  he  was  blissfully 
ignorant.  Mrs.  Tetson  often  came  to  his  room  and 
gave  him  motherly  advice  about  not  talking  too  much 
and  not  thinking  too  hard.  Hicks  felt  no  desire 
to  talk,  but  as  for  thinking,  Lord,  she  might  as  well 
have  told  him  to  stop  breathing.  He  thought  more 
in  ten  minutes  now  than  he  had  before  in  any  three 
hours.  They  were  comforting  thoughts,  though,  for 
the  most  part,  and  Marion  knew  that  they  did  him 
more  good  than  harm. 

Hemming  kept  up  a  show  of  interest  in  the  army. 
He  lectured  the  officers  and  drilled  the  men,  and 
dined  almost  every  night  at  the  mess,  which  he  had 
remodelled  on  the  English  plan.  But  most  of  the 
time  he  kept  his  eye  on  the  President.  It  was  a 
job  he  did  not  care  about,  —  this  prying  into  an- 
other man's  business,  —  but  somehow  he  could  not 
put  it  by  him,  things  were  so  obviously  out  of  order. 
He  kept  his  monocle  polished,  his  ears  open,  and 
his  mouth  shut.  He  was  always  willing  to  listen 
to  the  President's  dreary  conversations.  The  life 
lacked  excitement  for  one  who  had  run  the  gauntlet 
of  a  hundred  vital  dangers.  He  had  given  up  all 
special  correspondence,  but  did  a  good  deal  of  fic- 
tion when  the  mood  was  on  him.  The  longing  to 


172         Hemming,  the  Adventurer 

return  to  a  more  active  existence  grew  stronger 
every  day,  but  his  friendship  for  the  Tetsons  and  for 
Hicks  kept  him  at  his  post. 

Hemming's  morning  coffee  was  always  served  in 
his  room  at  six  o'clock.  That  left  him  about  two 
and  a  half  hours  of  the  cool  of  the  day  in  which  to 
work.  Breakfast,  with  its  queer  dishes  of  hot  meats, 
and  claret,  tea,  and  coffee  to  drink,  came  on  about 
nine.  Breakfast  was  a  family  affair,  and  after  it 
every  one  retired  for  a  nap.  Hemming  usually  drank 
his  coffee  before  he  dressed,  but  one  morning  Smith 
found  him  pacing  the  room,  booted  and  spurred,  and 
attired  in  stained  breeches  and  a  faded  tunic.  There 
were  cigar  ashes  on  the  floor  beside  the  bed.  A  vol- 
ume of  Stevenson's  "  Men  and  Books  "  lay  open  on 
the  pillow. 

"  Fill  my  flask,"  he  said,  "  and  let  the  President 
know  that  I  may  not  be  back  until  evening." 

"Very  good,  sir,"  replied  the  valet.  "Will  I 
order  your  horse,  sir?" 

While  the  man  was  out  of  the  room  Hemming 
pulled  open  a  drawer  in  his  desk,  in  search  of  re- 
volver cartridges.  The  contents  of  the  drawer  were 
in  a  shocking  jumble.  In  his  despatch-box  at  large 
among  his  papers  he  found  half  a  dozen  cartridges, 
a  cigarette  from  the  army  and  navy  stores  at  home, 
and  a  small  bow  of  black  ribbon.  He  picked  up  the 


Learns  About  His  Army          173 

bow,  kissed  it  lightly,  and  instead  of  restoring  it  to 
the  box  put  it  in  his  pocket. 

"  She  liked  me  well  enough  in  those  days  —  or 
else  she  did  some  —  ah  —  remarkable  acting,"  he 
said. 

Turning  on  his  heel  he  found  Smith  in  the  door- 
way. 

"  Your  horse  is  ready,  sir,"  said  the  man.  Hem- 
ming blushed,  and,  to  hide  his  confusion,  told  Smith 
to  go  to  the  devil.  He  rode  away  with  an  unloaded 
revolver  in  his  holster. 

"  It  must  be  a  pretty  rotten  country,"  soliloquized 
the  valet,  "  when  a  single-eye-glassed,  right-about- 
turn,  warranted-not-to-shrink-wear-or-tear  gent  like 
that  gets  buggy  before  breakfast." 

The  commander-in-chief  rode  from  the  gardens 
by  the  same  gate  at  which  he  had  entered  for  the 
first  time  only  a  month  before.  He  did  not  return 
the  salute  of  a  corporal  in  the  door  of  the  guard- 
house. He  did  not  notice  the  little  brown  soldier 
at  the  gate,  who  stood  at  attention  upon  his  ap- 
proach, and  presented  arms  as  he  passed  —  which 
was,  perhaps,  just  as  well,  for  a  freshly  lighted 
cigarette  smoked  on  the  ground  at  the  man's  feet. 
He  turned  his  horse's  head  northward.  On  both 
sides  of  the  street  arose  the  straight  brown  boles  of 
the  royal  palms,  and  high  above  the  morning  wind 


174         Hemming,  the  Adventurer 

sang  in  the  stiff  foliage.  At  the  end  of  the  street 
he  turned  into  the  path  by  which  he  had  first  en- 
tered the  town.  The  country  folk  urged  their  horses 
into  the  bush  that  he  might  pass,  and  he  rode  by 
unheeding.  In  their  simple  minds  they  wondered 
at  this,  for  the  fame  of  his  alert  perception  and 
flashing  eye-glass  had  gone  far  and  near.  Of  his 
own  accord  the  white  stallion  came  to  a  standstill 
before  a  hut.  Hemming  looked  up,  his  reverie 
broken,  and  his  thoughts  returned  to  Pernamba. 

A  woman  came  to  the  narrow  doorway  and 
greeted  him  with  reverence.  He  recognized  in  her 
the  woman  who  had  first  welcomed  him  to  the 
country.  He  dismounted  and  held  out  his  hand. 

"  How  is  the  little  fellow  ?  "  he  asked.  At  that 
the  tears  sprang  into  her  eyes,  and  Hemming  saw 
that  her  face  was  drawn  with  sorrow.  He  followed 
her  into  the  dim  interior  of  the  hut.  The  boy  lay 
in  a  corner,  upon  an  untidy  bed,  and  above  him  stood 
the  English  doctor.  The  two  men  shook  hands. 

"  I  can  clear  him  of  the  fever,"  said  the  doctor, 
"but  what  for?  It's  easier  to  die  of  fever  than 
of  starvation." 

"  Starvation,"  exclaimed  Hemming,  "  why  star- 
vation ?  " 

"  The  senor  does  not  know,"  said  the  woman.  "  It 


Learns  About  His  Army          175 

is  not  in  his  kind  heart  to  ruin  the  poor,  and  bring 
sorrow  to  the  humble." 

"  But,"  said  the  doctor,  looking  at  Hemming,  "  to 
Englishmen  of  our  class,  a  nigger  is  a  nigger,  say 
what  you  please,  and  the  ends-of-the-earth  is  a  place 
to  make  money  and  London  is  the  place  to  spend  it." 

The  soldier's  face  whitened  beneath  the  tan. 

"  Don't  judge  me  by  your  own  standards,  Scott, 
simply  because  you  were  born  a  gentleman,"  he 
said. 

"  Oh,"  laughed  the  doctor,  "  to  me  money  would 
be  of  no  use,  even  in  London.  I  find  the  ends-of-the- 
earth  a  place  to  hide  my  head." 

"  But  what  of  starvation  and  ruin  ?  "  asked  the 
other. 

"  I  thought,"  replied  the  doctor,  "  that  you  were 
in  command  of  the  army.  Ask  those  mud-faced 
soldiers  of  yours  why  this  woman  has  nothing  to 
feed  to  her  child." 

"  I  will  ask  them,"  said  the  commander-in-chief, 
and  he  ripped  out  an  oath  that  did  Scott's  heart 
good  to  hear.  He  turned  to  the  woman. 

"  I  am  sorry  for  this,"  he  said,  "  and  will  see  that 
all  that  was  taken  from  you  is  safely  returned.  The 
President  and  I  knew  nothing  about  it."  He  drew 
a  wad  of  notes  from  his  pocket  and  handed  it  to  her. 
Then  he  looked  at  the  doctor. 


176        Hemming,  the  Adventurer 

"  If  I  did  not  like  you,  Scott,  and  respect  you," 
he  continued,  "  I'd  punch  your  head  for  thinking  this 
of  me.  But  you  had  both  the  grace  and  courage  to 
tell  me  what  you  thought." 

"  I  don't  think  it  now,"  said  Scott,  "  and  I  don't 
want  my  head  punched,  either,  for  my  flesh  heals 
very  slowly.  But  if  I  ever  feel  in  need  of  a  thrash- 
ing, old  man,  I'll  call  on  you.  No  doubt  it  would 
be  painful,  but  there'd  be  no  element  of  disgrace 
connected  with  it." 

Hemming  blushed,  for  compliments  always  put 
him  out  of  the  game.  The  woman  suddenly  stepped 
closer,  and,  snatching  his  hand  to  her  face,  kissed  it 
twice  before  he  could  pull  it  away.  He  retreated  to 
the  door,  and  the  doctor  laughed.  Safe  in  the  saddle, 
he  called  to  the  doctor. 

"  My  dear  chap,"  he  said,  "  you  have  inspired  me 
to  a  confession.  I,  too,  have  soured  on  London." 

"  Let  me  advise  you  to  try  your  luck  again.  A 
girl  is  sometimes  put  in  a  false  light  by  circum- 
stances —  the  greed  of  parents,  for  instance,"  replied 
Scott 

Hemming  stared,  unable  to  conceal  his  amaze- 
ment. 

"  I  have  not  always  lived  in  Pernamba,"  laughed 
Scott.  "  I  have  dined  more  than  once  at  your  mess. 


Learns  About  His  Army          177 

Fact  is,  I  was  at  one  time  surgeon  in  the  Sixty- 
Second." 

"  You  are  a  dry  one,  certainly,"  said  Hemming. 

"  It  is  unkind  of  you  to  remind  me  of  it  when 
the  nearest  bottle  of  soda  is  at  least  three  miles  away, 
and  very  likely  warm  at  that,"  retorted  the  doctor. 
Hemming  leaned  forward  in  his  saddle  and  grasped 
his  hand. 

"  I  will  not  take  your  advice,"  he  said,  "  but  it 
was  kind  of  you  to  give  it.  Forgive  me  for  men- 
tioning it,  Scott,  but  you  are  a  dashed  good  sort." 

"  Man,"  cried  the  other,  "  didn't  I  tell  you  that 
I  am  hiding  my  head?"  He  slapped  the  white 
stallion  smartly  on  the  rump,  and  Hemming  went 
up  the  trail  at  a  canter. 


CHAPTER   VIII. 

CAPTAIN     SANTOSA    VISITS     HIS    SUPERIOR    OFFICER 

HEMMING  got  back  to  the  village  in  time  to  change 
and  dine  with  the  family.  The  President's  mind  was 
otherwhere  than  at  the  table.  He  would  look  about 
the  room,  staring  at  the  shadows  beyond  the  candle- 
light, as  if  seeking  something.  He  pushed  the  claret 
past  him,  and  ordered  rye  whiskey.  His  kind  face 
showed  lines  unknown  to  it  a  month  before.  Mrs. 
Tetson  watched  him  anxiously.  Marion  and  the 
commander-in-chief  talked  together  like  well-tried 
comrades,  laughing  sometimes,  but  for  the  most  part 
serious.  Marion  was  paler  than  of  old,  but  none 
the  less  beautiful  for  that.  Her  eyes  were  brighter, 
with  a  light  that  seemed  to  burn  far  back  in  them, 
steady  and  tender.  Her  lips  were  ever  on  the  verge 
of  smiling.  Hemming  told  her  all  of  his  interview 
with  the  peasant  woman,  and  part  of  his  interview 
with  Scott. 

"  There  will  be  trouble  soon,"  he  said. 
178 


Santosa  Visits  His  Superior  Officer    179 

She  begged  him  not  to  stir  it  up  until  Valentine 
was  well  enough  to  have  a  finger  in  it. 

"  You  may  not  think  him  very  clever,"  she  said, 
"  but  even  you  will  admit  that  he  shoots  straight, 
and  has  courage." 

"  I  will  admit  anything  in  his  favour,"  replied 
Hemming,  "  but  as  for  his  shooting,  why,  thank 
Heaven,  I  have  never  tested  it." 

"  Wasn't  he  very  rude  to  you  one  night  ?  "  she 
asked. 

He  laughed  quietly.  "  The  circumstances  war- 
ranted it,  but  he  was  rude  to  the  wrong  person,  don't 
you  think  ?  " 

"  No,  indeed,"  she  cried,  "  for  no  matter  how 
minus  a  quantity  your  guilt,  or  how  full  of  fault 
I  had  been,  it  would  never  have  done  for  him  to 
threaten  me  with  a  —  "  She  paused. 

"  Service  revolver  ?  "  said  Hemming,  "  and  one  of 
my  own  at  that." 

"  Fever  is  a  terrible  thing,"  she  said,  gazing  at  the 
red  heart  of  the  claret. 

"  My  dear  sister,"  said  the  Englishman,  "  a  man 
would  gladly  suffer  more  to  win  less." 

They  smiled  frankly  into  one  another's  eyes. 

"  Then  you  do  not  think  too  badly  of  me?  "  she 
asked. 


180         Hemming,  the  Adventurer 

"  I  think  everything  that  is  jolly  —  of  both  of 
you,"  he  replied. 

"  I  like  your  friendship,"  she  said,  "  for,  though 
you  seem  such  a  good  companion,  I  do  not  believe 
you  give  it  lightly." 

After  the  coffee  and  an  aimless  talk  with  Tetson, 
Hemming  looked  in  at  Hicks  and  found  him  drink- 
ing chicken  broth  as  if  he  liked  it.  The  invalid  was 
strong  enough  to  manage  the  spoon  himself,  but 
Marion  held  the  bowl.  Hemming  went  to  his  own 
room,  turned  on  the  light  above  his  desk,  and  began 
to  write.  He  worked  steadily  until  ten  o'clock. 
Then  he  walked  up  and  down  the  room  for  awhile, 
rolling  and  smoking  cigarettes.  The  old  ambition 
had  him  in  'its  clutches.  Pernamba,  with  its  heat, 
its  dulness,  its  love  and  hate,  had  faded  away.  Now 
he  played  a  bigger  game  —  a  game  for  the  world 
rather  than  for  half  a  battalion  of  little  brown  sol- 
diers. A  knock  sounded  on  his  door,  and,  before 
he  could  answer  it,  Captain  Santosa,  glorious  in  his 
white  and  gold,  stepped  into  the  room.  The  sight 
of  the  Brazilian  brought  his  dreams  to  the  dust. 
"  Damn,"  he  said,  under  his  breath. 

Then  he  waved  his  subordinate  to  a  seat. 

The  captain's  manner  was  as  courteous  as  ever, 
his  smile  as  urbane,  his  eyes  as  unfathomable.  But 
his  dusky  cheek  showed  an  unusual  pallor,  and  as  he 


Santosa  Visits  His  Superior  Officer    181 

sat  down  he  groaned.  Hemming  eyed  him  sharply ; 
men  like  Santosa  do  not  groan  unless  they  are 
wounded  —  maybe  in  their  pride,  by  a  friend's  word, 
maybe  in  their  vitals  by  an  enemy's  knife.  There 
was  no  sign  of  blood  on  the  spotless  uniform. 

"  A  drink  ?  "  queried  Hemming,  turning  toward 
the  bell. 

"  Not  now,"  said  the  captain,  "  but  afterward,  if 
you  then  offer  it  to  me."  He  swallowed  hard,  looked 
down  at  his  polished  boots,  aloft  at  the  ceiling,  and 
presently  at  his  superior  officer's  staring  eye-glass. 
From  this  he  seemed  to  gather  courage. 

"  I  have  disturbed  you  at  your  rest,  at  your  pri- 
vate work,"  he  said,  with  a  motion  of  the  hand 
toward  the  untidy  desk,  "  but  my  need  is  great.  I 
must  choose  between  disloyalty  to  my  brother  offi- 
cers, and  disloyalty  to  you  and  the  President.  I  have 
chosen,  sir,  and  I  now  resign  my  commission.  I  will 
no  longer  ride  and  drink  and  eat  with  robbers  and 
liars.  It  is  not  work  for  a  gentleman."  He  paused 
and  smiled  pathetically.  "  I  will  go  away.  There 
is  nothing  else  for  my  father's  son  to  do." 

"  I  heard  something  of  this  —  no  longer  ago  than 
to-day,"  said  Hemming. 

Santosa  lit  a  cigar  and  puffed  for  awhile  in  silence. 

"  I  winked  at  it  too  long,"  he  said,  at  last,  "  for 
I  was  dreaming  of  other  things.  So  that  I  kept  my 


1 82        Hemming,  the  Adventurer 

own  hands  clean  I  did  not  care.  Then  you  came,  and 
I  watched  you.  I  saw  that  duty  was  the  great  thing, 
after  all  —  even  for  a  soldier.  And  I  saw  that  even 
a  gentleman  might  earn  his  pay  decently." 

Hemming  smiled,  and  polished  his  eye-glass  on 
the  lining  of  his  dinner-jacket. 

"  Thank  you,  old  chap.  You  have  a  queer  way  of 
putting  it,  but  I  catch  the  idea,"  he  said. 

The  captain  bowed.  "  I  will  go  away,  but  not 
very  far,  for  I  would  like  to  be  near,  to  help  you 
in  any  trouble.  Our  dear  friend  Valentine,  whom 
I  love  as  a  brother,  is  not  yet  strong.  The  Presi- 
dent, whom  I  honour,  is  not  a  fighter,  I  think.  The 
ladies  should  go  to  the  coast." 

"  You  are  right,"  said  Hemming,  "  but  do  not 
leave  us  for  a  day  or  two.  I  will  consider  your 
resignation.  Now  for  a  drink." 

He  rang  the  bell,  and  then  pulled  a  chair  close  to 
Santosa.  When  Smith  had  gone  from  the  room, 
leaving  the  decanter  and  soda-water  behind  him,  the 
two  soldiers  touched  glasses  and  drank.  They  were 
silent.  The  Brazilian  felt  better  now,  and  the  Eng- 
lishman was  thinking  too  hard  to  talk.  A  gust  of 
wind  banged  the  wooden  shutters  at  the  windows. 
It  was  followed  by  a  flash  of  lightning.  Then  came 
the  rain,  pounding  and  splashing  on  the  roof,  and 
hammering  the  palms  in  the  garden. 


Santosa  Visits  His  Superior  Officer    183 

"  That's  sudden,"  said  Hemming. 

"  Things  happen  suddenly  in  this  country,"  re- 
plied Santosa. 

Hemming  leaned  back  and  crossed  his  legs. 

"  Have  you  seen  Hicks  since  the  fever  bowled 
him?  "  he  asked. 

"  No,"  replied  the  captain,  "  no,  I  have  not  seen 
him,  but  he  is  my  friend  and  I  wish  him  well.  Is 
it  not  through  our  friends,  Hemming,  that  we  come 
by  our  griefs?  It  has  seemed  so  to  me." 

Hemming  glanced  at  him  quickly,  but  said  noth- 
ing. Santosa  was  a  gentleman,  and  might  safely  be 
allowed  to  make  confessions. 

"  When  I  first  came  here,"  continued  the  captain, 
"  I  was  poor,  and  the  Brazilian  army  owed  me  a 
whole  year's  back  pay.  I  had  spent  much  on  clothes 
and  on  horses,  trying  hard  to  live  like  my  father's 
son.  Mr.  Tetson  offered  me  better  pay,  and  a  gayer 
uniform.  I  was  willing  to  play  at  soldiering,  for 
I  saw  that  some  gain  might  be  made  from  it,  out- 
side the  pay.  My  brother  officers  saw  this  also,  and 
we  talked  of  it  often.  Then  Miss  Tetson  came  to 
Pernamba.  I  rode  out  with  her  to  show  her  the 
country.  I  told  her  of  my  father,  and  of  how,  when 
they  carried  him  in  from  the  field,  they  found  that 
the  Order  of  Bolivar  had  been  driven  edgewise 
through  his  tunic  and  into  his  breast  by  the  blow 


184        Hemming,  the  Adventurer 

of  a  bullet.  And  when  I  saw  the  look  on  her  face, 
my  pride  grew,  but  changed  in  some  way,  and  it 
seemed  to  me  that  the  son  of  that  man  should  leave 
thieving  and  the  crushing  of  the  poor  to  men  of  less 
distinction. 

"  Sometimes  my  heart  was  bitter  within  me,  and 
my  fingers  itched  for  the  feel  of  Valentine's  throat. 
But  I  hope  I  was  always  polite,  Hemming."  He 
got  lightly  to  his  feet,  and  held  out  his  hand. 

"  Young  ladies  talk  so  in  convent-schools,"  he 
said. 

"  Not  at  all,"  replied  Hemming,  gravely,  "  and 
I  can  assure  you  that  your  attitude  toward  all  con- 
cerned has  left  nothing  to  be  desired.  I  will  look 
you  up  at  your  quarters  after  breakfast/' 

Captain  Santosa  went  through  the  gardens,  hum- 
ming a  Spanish  love-song.  He  turned  near  a  foun- 
tain and  looked  up  at  a  lighted  window.  His  white 
uniform  gleamed  in  the  scented  dusk.  He  kissed 
his  finger-tips  to  the  window.  "  The  end  of  that 
dream,"  he  said,  lightly,  and  his  eyes  were  as  un- 
fathomable as  ever.  The  water  dripped  heavily  on 
to  the  gold  of  his  uniform. 

Hemming  went  in  search  of  the  President,  and 
found  him  in  the  billiard-room,  idly  knocking  the 
balls  about  with  a  rasping  cue. 


Santosa  Visits  His  Superior  Officer    185 

"  Have  a  game,  like  a  good  chap,"  urged  the 
great  man. 

The  commander-in-chief  shook  his  head. 

"  Not  now,  sir.  I  came  to  tell  you  something 
about  the  army,"  he  replied.  He  was  shocked  at 
Tetson's  sudden  pallor.  The  yellow  cigar  was 
dropped  from  nerveless  fingers  and  smeared  a  white 
trail  of  ash  across  the  green  cloth. 

"  What  do  they  want  ?  "  asked  Tetson,  in  a  husky 
voice. 

"  Oh,  they  take  whatever  they  want,"  replied 
Hemming;  "  the  taxes  that  are  due  you,  and  some- 
thing besides  from  the  unprotected."  Then  he  re- 
tailed the  case  of  the  poor  woman.  When  he  had 
finished  Tetson  did  not  speak  immediately.  His 
benevolent  face  wore  an  expression  that  cut  Hem- 
ming to  the  heart. 

"  I  must  think  it  over,"  he  said,  wearily,  "  I  must 
think  it  over." 


CHAPTER    IX. 

MR.    CUDDLEHEAD   ARRIVES 

MR.  CUDDLEHEAD'S  trip,  though  free  from  serious 
accident,  had  been  extremely  trying.  The  barcassa 
had  cramped  his  legs,  and  the  smell  of  the  native 
cooking,  in  so  confined  a  space,  had  unsettled  his 
stomach.  He  had  been  compelled  to  wait  three  days 
in  the  uninteresting  village  at  the  mouth  of  the 
Plado,  unable  to  hurry  the  leisurely  crew  of  the 
launch.  But  at  last  the  undesirable  journey  came 
to  an  end,  and  with  a  sigh  of  relief  he  issued  from 
beneath  the  smoke-begrimed  awning,  and  stretched 
his  legs  on  the  little  wharf  at  Pernamba.  He  looked 
at  the  deserted  warehouses  along  the  river-front,  and 
a  foreboding  of  disaster  chilled  him.  The  afternoon 
lay  close  and  bright  in  the  unhealthy  valley,  and  the 
very  peacefulness  of  the  scene  awoke  a  phantom  of 
fear  in  his  heart.  What  if  the  President  were  a 
man  of  the  world  after  all,  with  a  knowledge  of 
men  and  the  signs  on  their  faces  ?  Why,  then,  good- 
bye to  all  hope  of  the  family  circle. 

1 86 


Mr.   Cuddlehead  Arrives          187 

A  black  boy  accosted  Cuddlehead,  awaking  him 
from  his  depressing  surmises.  The  nigger  gabbled 
in  the  language  of  the  country.  Then  he  pointed 
at  the  traveller's  bag. 

"  Take  it,  by  all  means,"  said  Cuddlehead. 

There  is  one  hostelry  in  Pernamba,  on  a  side  street 
behind  the  military  stables.  It  is  small  and  not 
very  clean.  To  this  place  the  boy  led  Cuddlehead, 
and  at  the  door  demanded  five  hundred  reis  —  the 
equivalent  of  sixpence.  Cuddlehead  doubled  the 
sum,  for  after  all  he  had  done  very  well  of  late,  and 
a  favourable  impression  is  a  good  thing  to  make  in 
a  new  stamping-ground,  even  on  a  nigger.  The  pro- 
prietor of  the  inn  bowed  him  to  the  only  habitable 
guest-chamber.  Here  he  bathed,  as  well  as  he  could 
with  two  small  jugs  of  water  and  his  shaving-soap, 
and  then  changed  into  a  suit  of  clean  white  linen. 
With  a  cigarette  between  his  lips  and  a  light  rattan 
in  his  hand,  Cuddlehead  was  himself  again.  He 
swaggered  into  the  narrow  street  and  started  in 
search  of  the  President's  villa.  He  passed  a  group 
of  soldiers  puffing  their  cigarettes  in  a  doorway,  who 
stared  after  him  with  interest  and  some  misgivings. 
"  Was  the  place  to  be  invaded  by  Englishmen  ?  " 
they  wondered.  He  saw  a  brown  girl  of  attractive 
appearance,  rolling  cigars  beside  an  open  window. 
He  entered  the  humble  habitation,  and,  after  ex- 


Hemming,  the  Adventurer 


amining  the  samples  of  leaf,  in  sign  language  or- 
dered a  hundred  cigars.  Then  he  embraced  the  girl, 
and  was  promptly  slapped  across  the  face  and  pushed 
out  of  the  shop. 

"  What  airs  these  d — n  niggers  put  on,"  he  mut- 
tered, "  but  maybe  I  was  a  bit  indiscreet." 

Here,  already,  was  the  hand  of  Hemming  against 
him,  though  he  did  not  know  it ;  for  Hemming,  also, 
had  bought  cigars  from  the  girl,  and  had  treated  her 
as  he  treated  all  women,  thereby  establishing  her 
self-respect  above  the  attentions  of  men  with  eyes 
like  Cuddlehead's. 

Cuddlehead  found  the  gates  open  to  the  Pres- 
ident's grounds  without  much  trouble,  and  was 
halted  by  the  sentry.  He  produced  his  card-case. 
The  sentry  whistled.  The  corporal  issued  from  the 
guard-house,  with  his  tunic  open  and  his  belt  dan- 
gling. 

Just  then  Captain  Santosa  entered  from  the  street, 
with,  in  the  metaphorical  phrase  of  a  certain  whist- 
playing  poet,  "  a  smile  on  his  face,  and  a  club  in 
his  hand."  He  swore  at  the  corporal,  who  retreated 
to  the  guard-house,  fumbling  at  his  buttons.  He 
bowed  to  Cuddlehead,  and  glanced  at  the  card. 

"  You  would  like  to  see  the  President  ?  "  he  said. 
"  Then  I  will  escort  you  to  the  door."  He  caught 
up  his  sword  and  hooked  it  short  to  his  belt,  wheeled 


Mr.   Cuddlehead  Arrives          189 

like  a  drill-sergeant,  and  fitted  his  stride  to  Cuddle- 
head's. 

Mr.  Tetson  received  the  visitor  in  his  airy  office. 
He  seemed  disturbed  in  mind,  wondering,  perhaps, 
if  this  were  a  dun  from  some  wholesale  establishment 
on  the  coast.  He  had  been  working  on  his  books  all 
the  morning,  and  had  caught  a  glimpse  of  ruin,  like  a 
great  shadow,  across  the  tidy  pages.  But  he  man- 
aged to  welcome  Cuddlehead  heartily  enough. 

"  You  must  stay  to  dinner,  sir,  —  pot-luck,  —  very 
informal,  you  know,"  he  said,  hospitably.  He  leaned 
against  the  desk  and  passed  his  hand  across  his 
forehead.  He  could  not  keep  his  mind  from  working 
back  to  the  sheets  of  ruled  paper. 

"  Ten  thousand,"  he  pondered,  "  ten  thousand  for 
April  alone,  and  nothing  to  put  against  it.  The 
army  wanting  its  pay,  and  robbing  me  of  all  I  have. 
Gregory's  coal  bill  as  long  as  my  leg.  Sugar  gone 
to  the  devil !  "  He  sighed,  mopped  his  face,  and 
looked  at  Cuddlehead,  who  all  the  while  had  been 
observing  him  with  furtive,  inquiring  eyes.  He 
offered  a  yellow  cigar,  and  lit  one  himself. 

"  Excuse  me  a  moment,"  he  said.  "  I  have  some- 
thing to  see  to.  Here  are  some  English  papers. 
I'll  be  back  immediately,  Mr.  Cuddlehead,  and  then 
maybe  we  can  have  a  game  of  billiards." 

He  went  hurriedly  from  the  room. 


190         Hemming,  the  Adventurer 

"  You  are  a  foolish  old  party,"  remarked  Cuddle- 
head  to  the  closed  door,  "  and,  no  doubt,  you'll  be 
all  the  easier  for  that.  Hope  your  daughter  is  a 
better  looker,  that's  all." 

He  tossed  the  offensive  cigar  into  the  garden,  and 
seated  himself  in  the  chair  by  the  desk.  His  courage 
was  growing. 

At  the  hall  door  Mr.  Tetson  met  Hemming  en- 
tering. The  commander  was  booted  and  spurred. 

"Are  you  busy?"  inquired  the  President. 
"  There's  a  visitor  in  here." 

The  Englishman  glared. 

"  Yes,  sir,  I  am  busy,"  he  replied.  "  I've  caught 
my  command  in  seven  of  their  thieving  tricks,  and 
have  ridden  thirty  miles  to  do  it.  I've  told  the 
whole  regiment  what  I  think  of  them,  and  now  I 
must  dine  at  the  mess,  to  see  that  they  don't  concoct 
any  schemes  to  murder  me." 

"  Haven't  you  time  for  a  game  of  billiards  with 
Mr.  Cuddlehead  ?  "  asked  Mr.  Tetson. 

"  No,  sir,  I  have  not,"  replied  Hemming,  crisply, 
and  tramped  away  to  change  his  clothes.  "  The  old 
ass,"  he  muttered,  under  his  breath. 

Dinner  that  night  was  a  dull  affair.  Hemming 
and  Hicks  were  both  absent  from  the  table.  Cuddle- 
head  had  excellent  manners,  and  all  the  outward 
signs  of  social  grace,  but  a  warning  was  marked  on 


Mr.   Cuddlehead  Arrives          191 

his  face.  The  President  tried  to  be  entertaining, 
but  the  terror  of  an  impending  disturbance,  and  even 
of  ruin,  hung  over  him.  Mrs.  Tetson,  guessing 
somewhat  of  her  husband's  troubles,  sat  pale  and 
fearful.  Marion  was  polite,  with  a  politeness  that, 
after  two  or  three  essays  of  gallantry  on  Cuddle- 
head's  part,  left  him  inwardly  squirming.  After 
dinner  Miss  Tetson  described  the  visitor  to  Hicks, 
mentioning  the  horrible  mouth,  the  shifting  eyes,  and 
the  odious  attentions. 

"  He  must  be  pretty  bad,  for  you  to  talk  about 
him,"  said  Valentine,  in  wonder. 

"  Oh,  if  I  had  never  seen  men  like  you  and  Mr. 
Hemming,"  she  answered,  "  he  would  not  seem  so 
utterly  ridiculous." 

Hicks  was  in  a  chair  by  the  window,  and  Marion 
was  perched  on  the  arm  of  it.  His  eyes  were  des- 
perate. Hers  were  bright  and  daring.  Her  mouth 
was  tremulous. 

"  I  can  understand  your  admiration  for  Hem- 
ming," he  said.  "  He  is  the  best  chap  on  earth, 
barring  only  you." 

Marion  smiled. 

"  I  wonder,"  he  continued,  presently,  "  I  wonder 
if  —  that  was  all  a  dream  ?  " 

"What?"  she  asked. 


192         Hemming,  the  Adventurer 

"  I  wish  I  could  see  you,"  he  said.  "  I  believe 
you  are  laughing  at  me  up  there." 

"  I  am  laughing,"  she  replied,  "  but  I  don't  know 
why  exactly." 

"  At  my  stupidity,  perhaps." 

"  You  are  certainly  very  stupid." 

"  No,  I'm  a  coward." 

"  What  are  you  afraid  of?  " 

He  leaned  back  as  far  as  he  could,  trying  to  see 
her  face. 

"  I  am  afraid  you  pity  me  —  and  don't  love  me," 
he  said. 

He  breathed  hard  after  that,  as  if  he  had  run  a 
mile. 

"  I  am  not  modest  enough  to  pity  you,"  she  said, 
softly,  "  though  no  doubt  you  are  deserving  of  pity." 

"  Marion,"  he  whispered,  "  for  God's  sake,  don't. 
I'm  too  blind  with  anxiety  to  read  riddles.  Tell  me 
straight  —  do  you  love  me?  Have  I  even  the  ghost 
of  a  chance?  " 

"Do  you  believe  in  ghosts?"  asked  she,  with 
trembling  laughter,  and,  bending  forward,  with  a 
hand  on  either  of  his  thin  shoulders,  she  pressed  her 
cheek  to  his. 

While  love  had  his  innings  in  the  sick-room,  below 
curiosity  led  the  feet  of  Mr.  Cuddlehead  toward  the 
officers'  quarters  on  the  outskirts  of  the  town.  The 


Mr.   Cuddlehead  Arrives  193 

night  was  fine,  and  not  oppressively  close.  A  breeze 
from  the  hills  made  liquid  stir  in  the  higher  foliage. 
Cuddlehead  felt  in  his  blood  a  hint  of  something 
unusual,  as  he  took  his  way  through  the  President's 
wide  gardens,  and  out  to  the  road.  No  sentinel 
paced,  sabre  at  shoulder,  before  the  little  guard- 
house. The  troopers  stood  in  groups  along  the  street, 
smoking  and  talking.  The  smoke  of  their  pungent 
cigarettes  drifted  on  the  air,  and  the  murmur  of 
their  voices  rang  with  a  low  note  of  menace.  Un- 
molested, Cuddlehead  reached  the  long  white  build- 
ing where  the  officers  of  this  inconsiderable  army 
lodged  and  messed.  Through  the  open  windows 
glowed  a  subdued  light  from  the  shaded  lamps  above 
the  table.  The  compassing  verandas  were  but  par- 
tially illuminated  by  the  glow  from  within,  and 
silent  men  stood  here  and  there  in  the  shadows, 
motionless  and  expectant.  At  Cuddlehead's  ap- 
proach, the  nearer  ones  hesitated  for  a  moment,  and 
then  drew  away. 

"  There  is  something  rotten,"  quoted  Cuddlehead, 
under  his  breath,  and  looked  cautiously  in.  For  a 
moment  the  array  of  faultless,  gaudy  mess-jackets 
startled  him.  In  the  sight  of  an  apparently 
civilized  military  mess  there  was,  to  him,  a  sugges- 
tion of  danger.  Recovering  his  composure,  he 
looked  again.  The  faces  up  and  down  the  table  were 


194         Hemming,  the  Adventurer 

dark,  and,  for  the  most  part,  sullen.  At  the  head  of 
the  board,  with  his  face  toward  the  onlooker's  place 
of  vantage,  sat  Hemming.  His  shoulders  were 
squared.  His  eye-glass  gleamed  in  the  lamplight. 
Cuddlehead  stared  at  the  commander-in-chief  with 
a  fearful,  spellbound  gaze.  His  hands  clutched  at 
the  low  window-sill.  His  breath  seemed  to  hang  in 
his  windpipe.  At  last  he  straightened  himself, 
moistened  his  craven  lips  with  his  tongue,  and  went 
stealthily  away.  Safe  in  his  own  room  in  the  quiet 
inn,  he  took  a  shrewd  nip  of  raw  brandy. 

"What  the  devil,"  he  asked  himself,  "brought 
that  righteous,  immaculate  fool  to  this  God-forsaken 
place?" 

Two  things  were  uppermost  in  his  memory  —  a 
caning  once  given  to  a  cad,  and  a  shilling  once  tossed 
to  a  beggar. 


CHAPTER    X. 

THE    FIRST    SHOT 

MR.  CUDDLEHEAD  did  not  go  far  afield  during 
the  day  following  his  glimpse  of  the  officers'  dinner- 
table.  Instead,  he  kept  to  his  room  until  evening, 
or  at  most  took  a  furtive  turn  or  two  on  the  cobbles 
before  the  inn  door.  After  his  lonely  and  not  very 
palatable  dinner  was  over,  he  set  out  cautiously  for 
the  President's  villa.  He  wanted  to  have  a  talk  with 
Miss  Tetson  alone.  She,  no  doubt,  could  explain 
matters  to  him,  so  that  he  might  be  able  to  decide 
on  a  course  of  action.  He  walked  slowly,  keeping 
always  a  vigilant  look-out  for  the  trim,  dauntless 
figure  of  Herbert  Hemming.  At  the  great  gateway 
the  brown  boy  on  sentry-go  saluted,  and  let  him 
pass  without  question.  In  return  he  treated  the 
fellow  to  his  blandest  smile  and  a  milreis  note.  He 
did  not  keep  long  to  the  drive,  but  turned  off  into 
a  narrow  path  as  soon  as  he  felt  that  the  soldier  had 
ceased  watching  him.  He  took  his  time,  traversing 
winding  paths  between  low  tropical  shrubs  and  yel- 


196        Hemming,  the  Adventurer 

low-stemmed  bamboo,  but  always  drawing  nearer 
to  the  quiet  mansion.  Presently  his  ear  caught  a 
welcome  sound,  —  the  soft,  frivolous  strumming 
of  a  banjo.  He  was  aware  that  Hemming  was  not 
musical;  in  fact,  he  remembered  that  his  rendering 
of  "  Father  O'Flynn  "  had  once  been  mistaken  for 
the  national  anthem. 

Cuddlehead  found  Miss  Tetson  on  a  stone  seat, 
near  her  favourite  fountain.  At  sight  of  him,  she 
stopped  her  idle  playing,  and  answered  his  saluta- 
tion with  the  coldest  of  bows.  Her  lover's  kisses 
still  burned  on  her  lips,  and  words  of  his  impulsive 
wooing  still  rang  sweetly  in  her  ears.  Even  the 
little  brown  crane,  that  stood  there  watching  the 
sparkling  water  with  eyes  like  yellow  jewels,  re- 
minded her  of  a  certain  evening  when  she  had  been 
unkind  to  Valentine  Hicks.  The  hour  was  not  for 
Cuddlehead. 

Undisturbed  by  the  coolness  of  his  reception, 
Mr.  Cuddlehead  seated  himself  at  the  far  end  of  the 
bench,  and  began  to  talk.  He  described  his  journey 
from  Pernambuco  to  Pernamba,  and  with  so  fine 
a  wit  that  Marion  smiled.  He  told  little  anecdotes 
of  his  past,  very  clever,  and  very  vague  as  to  dates 
and  scenes.  The  girl  almost  forgot  the  sinister 
aspect  of  his  face  in  the  charm  of  his  conversation, 
and  when  he  mentioned  Hemming,  in  terms  of 


The  First  Shot  197 

warmest  respect,  she  confided  to  him  something 
of  his  trouble  with  the  army. 

"  Perhaps  I  can  be  of  some  use ;  one  Englishman 
should  be  good  for  ten  of  those  niggers,"  he  said. 
He  lifted  the  banjo  from  the  seat,  and  made  it  dance 
and  sing  through  the  newest  Southern  melody.  His 
touch  was  both  dainty  and  brilliant.  He  replaced  the 
instrument  on  the  seat  between  them.  He  saw  that 
the  girl  was  more  favourably  impressed  with  him 
than  she  had  been.  For  a  little  while  they  kept 
silence,  and  her  thoughts  returned  to  Valentine 
Hicks.  Suddenly  they  heard  Hemming's  voice, 
pitched  low  and  sharp,  in  anger.  He  was  hidden 
from  them  by  shrubs  of  tangled  growth. 

"  I  have  given  my  orders,"  he  said.  "  Do  you 
understand  ?  " 

The  thick  voice  o>f  the  colonel  made  reply  in 
spluttering  oaths. 

"  No  more  of  that,"  said  Hemming,  fiercely. 

Marion  heard  the  crunch  of  his  heels  on  the  path 
as  he  wheeled.  Cuddlehead  held  his  breath,  the 
better  to  hear,  and  a  quotation  about  a  house  divided 
against  itself  came  imperfectly  to  his  mind. 

The  heavy  footsteps  of  the  native  officer  were 
heard  retreating.  Presently  Hemming  rounded  the 
hedge  of  roses,  and  stood  by  the  fountain.  By  the 
faint  starlight  the  watchers  saw  that  he  was  smiling. 


198         Hemming,  the  Adventurer 

He  lit  a  cigarette  with  deliberate  care,  and  dropped 
the  match  into  the  shallow  basin  of  the  fountain. 
He  lit  another  match  and  looked  at  his  watch.  He 
had  the  air  of  one  keeping  a  tryst.  Santosa  came 
out  of  the  shadows  beyond,  booted  and  spurred. 
The  two  men  shook  hands,  and  whispered  together. 
Their  backs  were  turned  square  upon  the  occupants 
of  the  bench.  Then  Hemming  produced  a  long 
packet  of  papers  and  gave  them  to  Santosa. 

"  Mr.  Tetson  has  signed  them  all,"  he  said,  "  and 
the  major  will  see  to  the  business  part  of  it.  Im- 
press the  importance  of  the  matter  upon  him,  and 
then  hurry  back,  for  I'm  afraid  these  idiots  intend 
making  this  unpleasant  for  us.  And  now,  old 
man,  good  luck  and  God  bless  you.  It  is  a  fine 
night  for  a  ride." 

"  A  beautiful  night,"  replied  Santosa,  "  and  on 
such  a  night  I  must  either  make  love  to  my  friends 
or  trouble  for  my  enemies." 

He  turned  on  his  heel  and  clanked  away. 

All  this  time  Marion  had  sat  as  one  spellbound. 
Now  she  looked  toward  the  other  end  of  the  stone 
seat.  Cuddlehead  had  gone.  She  called  to  Hem- 
ming. He  started  at  the  sound  of  her  voice.  "  You 
here?  "  he  said. 

"  Yes,  and  so  was  Mr.  Cuddlehead  a  moment 
ago.  But  he  sneaked  off,  the  little  cad." 


The  First  Shot  199 

"Did  he  see  the  papers?"  he  asked. 

''  Yes,  I'm  sure  he  did,"  she  replied. 

"  You  had  better  run  into  the  house,"  he  said. 
"  I'll  look  for  the  spy." 

Marion  hastened  indoors,  and  told  Hicks  all  she 
knew  about  the  trouble.  The  young  man  looked 
deeply  concerned. 

"  I  wish  Hemming  had  come  to  us  a  year  ago," 
he  exclaimed. 

"Could  he  have  helped  it?"  she  asked. 

"  I  believe  he  would  have  opened  our  eyes,  dear, 
before  things  got  into  such  an  awful  mess,"  re- 
plied her  lover. 

"  But  surely  we  are  not  in  any  danger,"  she 
urged.  "  Surely  Mr.  Hemming  and  father  can  quiet 
them." 

"  Our  lives  are  safe  enough,  but  the  little  fools 
may  break  some  windows.  You  see,  dear,  the  Pres- 
ident and  I  have  not  watched  them  as  we  should. 
We  have  let  them  rob  us  right  and  left,  and  now, 
when  Hemming  tries  to  spoil  their  game,  and  force 
them  to  divvy  up,  they  evidently  want  to  bully  us. 
It's  in  their  blood,  you  know,  —  this  revolution 
business."  Having  thus  unbosomed  himself,  Hicks 
leaned  weakly  back  in  his  chair. 

"  Dearest,"  he  said,  presently,  "  will  you  bring 


2OO         Hemming,  the  Adventurer 

me  my  Winchester  —  it's  in  the  boot  closet  —  and 
that  bag  of  cartridges  on  my  writing-table." 

The  girl  brought  them,  and  Hicks  oiled  the  breech 
of  the  rifle. 

A  few  minutes  later  the  President  and  Mrs.  Tet- 
son  entered  the  secretary's  sitting-room.  They 
found  that  gentleman  sorting  out  heaps  of  car- 
tridges, while  their  daughter  sat  near  him  busily 
scrubbing  sections  of  a  Colt's  revolver  with  a  tooth- 
brush. The  President's  face  displayed  shame  and 
consternation. 

"  God  help  us !  we  are  ruined,"  he  said,  looking 
from  one  to  another  with  bloodshot  eyes. 

He  produced  a  yellow  cigar  from  a  shabby  case, 
and  seated  himself  close  to  the  window.  Suddenly 
he  stood  up  and  looked  out. 

"Who's  that?"  he  asked. 

"  Hemming,"  came  the  faint  reply. 

A  rifle  cracked,  and  the  bullet  splintered  the  slats 
of  the  shutter.  The  President  retired  into  the  room 
and  turned  off  the  lights. 

"  Hemming  was  right.  They  mean  to  force  me," 
he  exclaimed. 

Hicks  tottered  to  the  window,  rifle  in  hand.  The 
sounds  of  a  violent  scuffle  arose  from  the  flower- 
beds. Hicks  could  just  make  out  a  rolling,  twisting 
mass  below. 


The  First  Shot  2OI 

"  Hold  your  fire,"  gasped  a  voice  which  he  rec- 
ognized as  Hemming's.  Presently  the  mass  ceased 
its  uneasy  movements,  and  divided  itself  into  two 
equal  parts,  one  of  which  continued  to  lie  among  the 
crushed  flowers,  while  the  other  staggered  along  the 
wall  of  the  house  and  entered  the  dining-room  by 
a  window.  The  President,  carrying  a  revolver  awk- 
wardly, hurried  down-stairs.  Presently  he  returned, 
he  and  Smith  leading  Hemming  between  them. 
Hemming  was  limp,  and  his  pale  face  was  streaked 
with  dust  and  sweat.  Blood  dripped  from  his  left 
sleeve.  His  monocle  was  gone. 

"  Mrs.  Tetson,  if  you'll  tie  up  my  arm,  —  I'll 
show  you  how,  —  I'll  be  fit  as  a  fiddle,"  he  said, 
and  sank  into  a  chair. 

"  Gun  ?  "  queried  Hicks,  who  knelt  by  the  win- 
dow, with  his  rifle  on  the  sill. 

"  Knife,"  replied  Hemming. 

Marion  cut  away  the  sleeve  of  his  jacket.  "  Surely 
Mr.  Cuddlehead  did  not  carry  a  knife,"  she  said. 

"  I  don't  think  so;  I  jumped  on  the  wrong  man. 
Heard  some  one  crawling  through  the  bushes,  and 
thought  I  had  him.  One  of  my  own  troopers  —  he 
stuck  me  in  the  muscles,  —  bleeds  a  bit,  that's  all," 
he  replied. 

"  There's  not  a  sound  in  the  garden  now,"  said 
Hicks. 


2O2         Hemming,  the  Adventurer 

"  Who  fired  the  shot  ?  "  asked  Tetson. 

"  A  corporal,"  said  Hemming.  "  He  was  behind 
me  when  you  spoke.  I  didn't  know  —  any  one  — 
was  near.  He'll  never  —  fire  another  —  shot." 
Then  the  commander-in-chief  fainted  on  Valentine's 
bed,  and  Smith  brought  him  around  with  cold  water 
and  brandy.  Then  Smith  stole  away  from  the  villa 
toward  the  barracks.  It  was  close  upon  dawn  when 
he  returned. 

"  They  think  they'll  kidnap  the  President  and  the 
ladies,  and  take  them  away  up-country  and  hold 
them  for  a  ransom;  it  is  the  stranger's  idea,"  he 
informed  them. 

The  President  turned  a  shade  paler,  and  glanced 
apprehensively  at  his  wife  and  daughter.  Hicks 
swore.  Hemming  sat  up  and  slid  his  feet  to  the 
floor. 

"  They  are  fools,  —  and  Cuddlehead  must  be 
mad,"  he  exclaimed.  Tetson  went  over  to  his  wife. 

"  Can  you  forgive  me,  dear?  "  he  asked,  huskily. 
For  answer  she  kissed  him. 

The  villa  was  left  undisturbed  all  the  following 
day.  Again  darkness  came.  The  gardens  were 
deserted.  Smith  had  crawled  around  the  house 
four  times  without  hearing  a  sound  or  attracting 
a  shot.  The  troopers  were  crowded  together  oil 
and  about  the  verandas  of  the  officers'  quarters, 


The  First  Shot  203 

listening  to  the  heated  discussions  of  their  superiors. 
Cuddlehead  was  with  the  officers,  he  and  the  colonel 
pouring  their  whiskey  from  the  same  decanter.  A 
dark  and  silent  procession  moved  from  the  Presi- 
dent's villa  down  to  the  river,  where  the  little 
steamer  lay  with  her  boilers  hot.  Mr.  Tetson  car- 
ried a  small  bag  filled  with  sovereigns  and  a  basket 
of  food.  Marion  and  Mrs.  Tetson  and  two  maids 
followed  with  wraps,  baskets,  and  firearms.  Smith 
scouted  ahead.  Hemming  and  Hicks  walked  feebly 
behind,  armed  and  alert.  The  things  were  passed 
smartly  aboard.  The  mooring-line  was  cleared. 
Hicks  steadied  himself  by  Marion's  arm. 

"  We  will  soon  follow  you,"  he  said.  "  Then 
you  will  think  better  of  me  than  if  I  went  now." 

They  were  very  close  together,  and  the  others 
were  all  busy  crawling  under  the  dirty  awnings,  or 
saying  good-bye. 

"  I  am  poor  as  Job's  turkey,"  he  said. 

"  And  my  father  is  ruined,"  she  replied. 

"  When  will  you  marry  me  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  As  soon  as  you  come  for  me,  —  in  Pernambuco, 
or  New  York,  or  —  anywhere,"  she  answered. 
Then  she  kissed  him,  and  at  the  touch  of  her  tear- 
wet  face  his  heart  leaped  as  if  it  would  leave  its 
place  in  his  side  to  follow  her. 

The  little  steamer  swung  into  the  current,  and 


204        Hemming,  the  Adventurer 

drifted  awhile  without  sound.  Presently  a  red 
crown  of  sparks  sprang  from  the  stack,  and  like 
a  thing  alive  it  darted  away  down  the  sullen  stream. 
Hemming,  Hicks,  and  Smith  turned  silently  and 
stole  back  to  the  deserted  house.  During  their  short 
absence,  all  the  native  servants  had  run  away. 

Smith,  who  seemed  devoid  of  fear,  buried  the 
dead  trooper  in  the  flower-bed  upon  which  he  had 
fallen.  Doctor  Scott  joined  the  garrison  toward 
morning,  and  was  both  relieved  and  surprised  to 
find  that  the  Tetsons  had  decamped  safely. 

"  They  are  not  dangerous  now,  except  to  prop- 
erty," he  said.  "  They  may  do  a  little  accidental 
shooting,  of  course,  for  the  colonel  is  very  drunk, 
and  down  on  you,  Hemming,  for  spoiling  his  profit- 
able game.  That  new  chap  seems  to  be  quite  off 
his  head.  Never  heard  such  fool  talk  in  all  my  life 
as  he  is  spouting." 

"  Did  Santosa  get  away  ?  "  asked  Hemming. 

"  Two  men  went  after  him,  and  only  one  came 
back,  and  he  is  in  the  hospital,"  replied  the  doctor. 

"  Who  looked  after  him  ?  "  inquired  Hemming. 

"  I  stitched  him  up  before  I  came  away,"  replied 
Scott,  casually. 


CHAPTER    XL 
THE  COLONEL'S  ULTIMATUM 

THE  little  garrison  breakfasted  before  sunrise. 
They  had  been  busily  occupied  all  night,  securing 
doors  and  windows  against  any  sudden  attack. 
Smith  made  the  secretary  a  huge  bowl  of  beef  tea, 
much  to  that  warlike  invalid's  disgust. 

"  See  here,  Smith,"  he  said,  "  if  I  can  fight,  I 
can  eat." 

"  Miss  Tetson's  orders,  sir,"  replied  the  man, 
gravely. 

The  doctor  laughed  boisterously,  and  Hicks 
blushed.  While  Hemming  and  Scott  devoured 
boiled  eggs,  muffins  and  coffee,  with  Smith  waiting 
on  them  with  a  revolver  in  his  pocket,  Hicks  retired 
to  another  room,  out  of  sight  of  temptation.  The 
poor  fellow  felt  that  seven  eggs  and  a  plate  of  muf- 
fins would  be  as  nothing  in  his  huge  emptiness. 
He  opened  one  of  the  upper  front  windows,  and 
knelt  by  the  sill,  rifle  in  hand.  His  thoughts  were 
gloomy.  The  beef  tea  had  only  sharpened  his  ap- 

205 


206        Hemming,  the  Adventurer 

petite  and  dampened  his  spirits.  Outside,  the  dawn 
was  quickly  strengthening,  filling  the  beautiful  gar- 
dens with  magic,  inviting  light.  He  thought  of 
the  little  fountain  in  front  of  the  bench,  and  of  the 
lonely  crane.  Suddenly  he  heard  the  brisk  padding 
of  hoofs  on  the  drive,  and  the  colonel,  followed  by 
a  trooper,  rode  up  to  the  great  steps. 

With  pardonable  caution,  Hicks  protruded  his 
head  from  the  window,  and  addressed  the  Brazilian 
politely. 

The  stout  horseman  saluted,  and  spoke  thus,  in 
what  he  fondly  considered  to  be  English :  "  Senor, 
a  good  morning  to  you,  my  friend.  I  here  have  a 
letter,  humbly  which  I  wish  a  delivery  in  the  hands 
of  General  Hemming." 

He  smiled  up  at  the  man  in  the  window,  evidently 
vastly  pleased  with  his  speech.  It  was  not  often 
that  he  attempted  the  language  of  these  aliens. 

"  If  you  will  kindly  request  the  gentleman  with 
you  to  poke  the  letter  under  the  door,  I  shall  be 
delighted  to  deliver  it  to  the  general,"  replied  Hicks, 
with  a  wan  grin. 

The  colonel  blinked  sleepily,  for  he  had  been  up 
late,  assisting  at  the  writing  of  the  letter,  and  emp- 
tying bottles.  "  Have  no  tremble,  senor,"  he  said, 
"  for  see,  —  I  am  as  a  sheep,  mild." 

"  I    know    nothing   of    sheep,    colonel,"    replied 


The  Colonel's  Ultimatum         207 

Hicks,  "  and  all  is  not  wool  that  looks  greasy."  The 
soldiers  below  looked  puzzled,  and  Hicks  felt  sorry 
that  they  were  his  only  audience.  Presently  the 
colonel  spoke  to  his  man  in  Portuguese,  and  passed 
him  a  long,  white  envelope.  The  little  trooper  ad- 
vanced upon  the  doorway. 

"  Thank  you,  sir,"  cried  Hicks,  and  bowed,  as 
he  turned  from  the  window.  But  the  colonel  called 
him  back. 

"  A  moment,  sefior,"  he  said ;  "  I  will  inquire 
of  the  conditions  of  the  ladies,  with  most  respectable 
regards." 

"  Thank  you,  they  are  very  well,"  said  Hicks, 
and  hurried  away. 

When  Hicks  gave  the  letter  to  Hemming,  that 
self-possessed  gentleman  and  the  doctor  were  smok- 
ing, with  their  chairs  pushed  back,  and  Smith  was 
eating  muffins  with  surprising  rapidity. 

"  A  letter  to  you  ?  "  queried  Scott.  "  Then  they 
must  know  of  Tetson's  escape." 

"  Possibly,"  said  Hemming,  and  opened  the  pa- 
per. At  first  he  smiled,  as  he  read.  Then,  of  a 
sudden,  he  wrinkled  his  brows,  stared,  and  looked 
up. 

"  What  is  that  stranger's  name  ? "  he  asked, 
sharply. 

"  Cuddlehead,  sir,"  replied  Smith,  promptly. 


208         Hemming,  the  Adventurer 

"  I  doubt  it,"  retorted  the  other,  "  for  I  have 
reason  enough  to  remember  this  handwriting." 

To  explain  the  remark,  he  opened  the  sheet  on 
the  table,  and  pointed  to  where  a  line  had  been 
crossed  through  and  rewritten  in  a  chirography  very 
different  to  that  of  the  body  of  the  manuscript. 

"  He  seemed  harmless  enough,  whoever  he  is, 
from  what  I  heard  of  him,"  remarked  Hicks. 

"  He's  a  sneaking  cad,"  said  Hemming,  hotly, 
"  and  has  more  devil  in  him  than  you  could  find 
in  the  whole  of  that  rotten  battalion  put  together. 
His  real  name  is  Penthouse,  —  and,  by  gad,  no 
wonder  he  kept  out  of  my  sight !  " 

"May  we  read  the  letter?"  asked  the  doctor, 
calmly. 

"  Read  away,"  said  the  commander-in-chief,  and 
got  out  of  his  chair  to  pace  the  room. 

The  style  of  the  document  disclosed  its  mongrel 
extraction.  It  ran  as  follows : 

"  To  THE  DISTINGUISHED  SENOR  HERBERT  HEM- 
MING, LATE  COMMANDER  -  IN  -  CHIEF  OF  THE 
ARMY  OF  PERNAMBA. 

"  DEAR  SIR  :  —  We,  the  undersigned  officers  of 
the  Army  of  Pernamba  (seeing  in  you  the  real 
head  of  the  presidential  household),  do  hereby  re- 
quest you  to  consider  the  following  petitions. 


The   Colonel's  Ultimatum         209 

First  —  We  desire  the  sum  of  ten  thousand  dollars, 
due  us  and  our  men,  in  back  pay,  as  per  signed 
agreement  with  Mr.  Tetson.  Second  —  We  desire 
an  apology  from  your  distinguished  and  august 
self,  due  us  for  insulting  words  spoken  to  every 
officer  and  man  of  this  army.  Should  the  above 
petitions  not  be  granted  within  twenty-four  hours, 
we  shall  proceed,  without  further  parley,  to  force 
the  money  from  Mr.  Tetson  and  the  apology  from 
you." 

At  the  foot  of  this  ridiculous  but  disconcerting 
epistle,  stood  the  names  of  all  the  native  officers, 
except,  of  course,  Captain  Santosa. 

The  morning  passed  without  disturbance.  The 
brown  soldiers  moved  about  the  fast-shut  house, 
smoking  endlessly,  and  talking  to  one  another. 
The  afternoon  proved  as  unexciting  as  the  morn- 
ing, and  Smith  began  to  long  for  a  fight.  But 
Hemming  would  not  let  him  even  take  pot-shots 
at  the  men  in  the  grounds.  By  the  doctor's  orders, 
the  secretary's  diet  was  advanced  to  soft-boiled  eggs. 
By  good  luck  a  store  of  these  were  in  the  house, 
all  more  or  less  fresh. 

The  colonel  took  up  his  position  before  the  villa 
bright  and  early  on  the  morning  of  the  2Oth  of 
May.  It  was  quite  evident  to  Hemming,  who 


2IO         Hemming,  the  Adventurer 

watched  him  from  an  upper  window,  that  he  had 
been  drinking  heavily.  Hemming  was  the  first  to 
speak. 

"What  do  you  want?"  he  asked. 

"  I  am  sure  you  know  what  I  want,  sefior,"  he 
replied,  in  his  own  language. 

"  Mr.  Tetson  and  I  have  decided  not  to  consider 
your  so-called  petitions,"  said  Hemming,  quietly. 
"  We  would  prove  ourselves  cowards  should  we 
do  so.  Mr.  Tetson  owes  you  nothing,  —  in  fact, 
the  debt  is  very  much  the  other  way;  and  I  shall 
never  ask  your  pardon  for  having  spoken  the  truth." 

The  colonel  was  furious. 

"  Consider  the  safety  of  the  ladies,"  he  shouted. 

Scott,  who  stood  behind  Hemming,  chuckled  at 
that.  "  What  wily,  open-eyed  chaps  they  are,"  he 
said.  "  I  wonder  if  they  have  missed  the  steamer 
yet?" 

Hemming  leaned  from  the  window.  "  We  can 
look  after  the  ladies,  thank  you,"  he  sneered,  "  and, 
by  the  way,  tell  your  precious  English  friend,  who 
helped  you  write  that  charming  letter,  that  if  I  get 
my  hands  on  him,  he'll  suffer  more  than  he  did  the 
other  time.  Hurry  along  now." 

Hemming  had  recovered  his  monocle,  and  before 
its  baleful  glare  the  colonel  was  silent  and  confused. 
Just  then  Cuddlehead  thumped  into  view,  clinging 


The  Colonel's  Ultimatum         21 1 

to  the  neck  of  Hemming' s  own  white  stallion.  He 
was  in  a  far  worse  state  than  the  colonel  even,  and 
swayed  in  the  saddle. 

"  Good  morning,  Captain  Hemming,"  he  cried, 
and  waved  his  hand. 

The  men  in  the  room  were  startled  by  the  ex- 
pression that  crossed  their  friend's  face.  The  mouth 
hardened.  The  eyes  narrowed.  A  deep  flush  burned 
in  his  thin  cheeks.  He  paid  no  heed  to  the  stranger's 
salutation. 

"  Pepper,"  he  said,  softly. 

The  stallion  looked  up. 

"  What  is  that  pitiful  object  on  your  neck  ?  That 
nasty  cad  ?  " 

Pepper  hung  his  clever  little  head. 

His  master  leaned  far  out  of  the  window,  and 
his  eyes  met  those  of  the  little  stallion. 

"  Pepper,"  he  said,  "  jump." 

Pepper  jumped.  Cuddlehead  slid  over  his  tail, 
and  for  a  full  minute  remained  seated  in  the  dust. 
The  Brazilian  colonel  reeled  in  his  saddle  with 
choking  laughter. 

"  Good  old  horse,  good  Pepper,"  called  Hem- 
ming, gently. 

The  stallion  cantered  away,  riderless. 

The  object  of  the  colonel's  uncomfortable  mirth 
got  painfully  to  his  feet.  His  face  was  purple  with 


212         Hemming,  the  Adventurer 

the  fury  that  raged  within  him.  He  cast  discretion 
to  the  winds,  and,  drawing  a  revolver,  emptied 
it  at  the  smoking-room  window.  He  looked  under 
the  cloud  of  dirty  smoke,  and  saw  Hemming's  face 
bent  toward  him,  set  and  horrible. 

"  Go  away,"  said  a  voice  that  rang  like  metal, 
"  or  I  will  kill  you  where  you  stand.  You  have 
crossed  my  trail  once  too  often,  Penthouse,  and,  by 
God!  this  will  be  the  last  time.  But  now  you  may 
go  away,  you  poor  fool." 

Scott  twitched  once  or  twice,  where  he  lay  on 
the  smoking-room  floor,  with  his  head  on  Smith's 
knee. 

But  he  was  dead,  sure  enough,  with  a  hole  in  his 
neck  and  another  in  his  heart. 

News  of  the  doctor's  death  soon  reached  the 
army,  and  the  colonel's  eyes  were  partially  opened 
to  his  foolishness.  He  returned  to  his  quarters, 
and  tried  to  drown  his  misgivings  in  drink.  Soon 
he  was  as  reckless  and  crazy  as  ever.  It  was  not  a 
game  for  a  sober  man  to  play  with  any  chance  of 
success.  Penthouse,  for  it  was  really  he,  cursed 
his  luck  when  he  heard  of  his  deed,  but  not  so  much 
in  disgust  at  having  killed  a  harmless  stranger  as 
in  having  missed  Hemming.  Then  he  steadied  his 
nerves  with  a  glass  of  brandy,  and  encouraged  the 
army  to  fresh  efforts. 


The  Colonel's  Ultimatum         213 

In  the  afternoon,  Hemming  opened  the  front 
door,  and  stared  at  the  men  on  the  veranda.  His 
left  arm  was  in  a  sling.  The  troopers  straightened 
up  at  sight  of  him,  and  one  even  went  so  far  as  to 
toss  away  his  cigarette.  The  slim  lieutenant,  with 
the  weakness  for  golf,  bowed  low. 

"  While  you  are  waiting  for  that  money,"  said 
Hemming,  "  will  you  be  kind  enough  to  ask  some 
of  your  men  to  dig  a  grave  over  there?"  He 
pointed  with  his  hand.  The  lieutenant  gave  the 
order.  Then  he  turned  to  Hemming. 

"  We  regret  the  doctor's  death,"  he  said,  "  but, 
—  ah  —  well  —  the  fortunes  of  war." 

''  You  give  this  lawlessness  rather  a  dignified 
name,"  replied  the  Englishman. 

A  blush  was  all  the  Brazilian's  answer. 

"  Do  you  want  to  kill  us  all,  or  is  it  only  the 
money  you  are  after?"  asked  Hemming. 

The  lieutenant  looked  both  ashamed  and  sulky. 
He  was  handsome  in  a  weak  sort  of  way,  with  a 
baby  face  and  a  thread  of  black  moustache.  "  We 
want  not  to  kill,"  he  began,  in  stilted  English,  then 
in  his  own  tongue  he  continued,  "  We  swore  long 
ago  to  stick  together  and  hold  to  our  plans,  —  all  ex-. 
cept  Captain  Santosa.  We  are  poor,  and  one  way 
of  making  money  seemed  as  good  as  another.  We 
have  our  pride  and  our  honour,  —  we  officers.  You 


214         Hemming,  the  Adventurer 

insulted  our  colonel.  You  have  called  us  robbers. 
Now  we  will  humble  your  arrogance,  —  and  get 
our  pay." 

Hemming  translated  slowly,  often  having  to  hark 
back  to  a  word  and  feel  around  for  its  meaning. 
The  troopers,  who  had  caught  something  of  the 
conversation,  awaited  the  commander-in-chief  s  re- 
ply in  expectant  attitudes. 

"  You  have  your  pride,"  he  said  at  last;  "  then, 
for  God's  sake,  take  it  away!  It  reminds  me  of  a 
cur  with  a  rotten  bone.  And  that  murderer  you 
have  with  you,  surely  you  are  proud  of  him.  Hum- 
ble my  arrogance  if  you  can.  It  will  stand  a  lot  of 
that  sort  of  thing." 

He  looked  out  to  where  three  men  were  breaking 
the  sod  for  Scott's  grave. 

"  How  many  of  you  has  Doctor  Scott  nursed 
back  to  worthless  lives  ? "  he  asked.  The  men 
turned  their  faces  toward  the  gravediggers. 


CHAPTER   XII. 
O'ROURKE  TO  THE  RESCUE 

PENTHOUSE  (still  known  to  the  army  as  Senor 
Cnddlehead)  sat  in  the  colonel's  bedroom  in  an 
unenviable  frame  of  mind.  He  had  been  a  fool 
to  show  himself  to  Hemming.  He  had  been  a  fool 
to  put  any  faith  in  these  niggers.  Why,  the  little 
cowards  were  afraid  to  break  into  the  house,  — 
afraid  to  face  five  white  men  and  a  couple  of  women. 
And  now  that  Hemming  had  seen  him  again,  and 
again  in  a  decidedly  unfavourable  light,  what  mercy 
could  he  expect  if  Hemming  ever  got  out  of  the 
President's  villa?  Whatever  he  could  do  must  be 
done  quickly.  He  looked  at  the  colonel,  who  lay 
in  drunken  half-slumber  on  the  bed. 

"  You  don't  seem  to  be  carrying  out  our  plans," 
he  said. 

The  Brazilian  groaned,  and  muttered  something 
in  his  own  tongue,  which,  fortunately,  the  other 
could  not  translate.  "  We  must  carry  off  the  women 
to-night.  Our  chances  of  getting  what  we  want 

215 


216        Hemming,  the  Adventurer 

lessen  every  hour.  If  help  comes  from  the  coast, 
then  what  will  happen?  Half  a  dozen  men  could 
run  your  dirty  army  out  of  the  country."  With 
every  unheeded  word,  Penthouse's  anger  grew.  The 
colonel  sprawled  there,  murmuring  that  he  felt  very 
ill.  Penthouse  jumped  up  and  shook  him  violently. 

"Wake  up,  you  drunken  hog!"  he  shouted; 
"  wake  up,  and  get  to  work." 

The  colonel  opened  his  eyes. 

"  The  ladies  —  they  are  gone.  They  went  — 
long  ago." 

He  closed  his  eyes  again. 

"  You  fool ! "  cried  Penthouse,  trembling  with 
rage  and  disappointment,  "  you  fool,  didn't  I  tell 
you  to  put  a  guard  on  the  boat,  and  to  surround 
the  house?  " 

'  The  guard  went  —  to  Pedro's  —  to  buy  wine. 
I  did  not  hear  till  to-day.  I  was  angry,"  replied 
the  Brazilian,  in  a  faint  and  broken  voice. 

"  To  buy  wine,"  echoed  the  white  man,  in  a 
tragic  cry.  Failure  grinned  at  him  again.  Even 
in  battle  and  murder  he  could  not  succeed.  He 
almost  found  it  in  him  to  regret  the  vagrant,  hungry 
days  on  the  London  streets,  when  he  went  up  and 
down  among  familiar  faces,  tattered  and  disguised. 
He  was  at  home  there,  at  least,  and  knew  the  tricks 
of  the  place.  But  here,  hunted  by  Hemming  for 


O'Rourke  to  the  Rescue          217 

a  murderer,  penniless,  and  among  strangers,  — 
Lord,  one  would  be  better  dead. 

"  Hemming  must  never  get  away  from  that 
house,"  he  whispered  to  himself. 

The  colonel  snorted  and  choked  in  his  heavy 
sleep.  For  a  few  minutes  the  broken  Englishman 
looked  at  him  intently.  Then  he  walked  over  to 
a  small  table  by  the  window.  "  There  is  still  liquor 
that  I  don't  have  to  pay  for,"  he  said,  and  lifted 
the  bottle. 

Through  the  President's  gardens  and  the  streets 
of  the  little  town,  the  troopers  sauntered  and 
smoked,  awaiting  further  orders  from  their  colonel 
for  the  undoing  of  the  passive  enemy. 

"  The  colonel  and  Senor  Cuddlehead  are  closeted 
together,"  said  a  subaltern  to  a  sergeant,  "  so  before 
dark  we  shall  have  our  money." 

"  But  the  ladies  have  gone,"  replied  the  sergeant. 
"  They  went  away  in  the  President's  steamer  while 
the  guard  was  shaking  dice  at  Pedro's." 

"  How  do  you  know  that  ?  "  argued  the  officer. 
"  No  one  saw  them  go.  Of  course  they  keep  away 
from  the  windows." 

"  The  General  Hemming  would  see  that  we  got 
our  money,  if  the  ladies  were  in  any  danger,"  said 
the  other,  conclusively.  But  the  subaltern  shook  his 
head. 


218        Hemming,  the  Adventurer 

"  You  don't  know  these  fools  of  Englishmen  as 
well  as  I  do,"  he  said.  "  They  would  rather  have 
their  own  grandmothers  shot  than  pay  out  any 
money." 

"  But,"  retorted  the  sergeant,  with  a  knowing 
look,  "  it  is  not  the  general's  money  we  want,  but 
the  President's.  He  would  force  the  old  man  to 
pay,  if  the  ladies  were  in  peril.  No,  the  women  have 
gone  with  the  steamer,  I  am  sure/' 

"  Englishmen  are  stubborn  brutes,"  replied  the 
officer,  unconvinced,  "  and  besides,  my  friend,  this 
Hemming  believes  that  with  his  own  right  arm 
he  is  able  to  defend  the  house  against  us.  Also, 
my  friend,  why  should  he  give  us  Tetson's  money 
until  we  force  him  to?  It  may  all  be  his  some  day." 

The  besieged  wondered  why  more  shooting  was 
not  done.  What  fun  could  the  little  men  find  in 
a  smokeless  revolution?  Did  they  still  cling  to  the 
hope  of  receiving  back  pay?  Did  they  still  believe 
the  family  to  be  in  the  villa?  Hemming,  seated 
by  the  window,  with  his  rifle  across  his  knees,  won- 
dered when  they  would  begin  to  humble  his  arro- 
gance. Valentine  Hicks,  eating  quinine  and  prowl- 
ing from  room  to  room,  and  window  to  window, 
with  his  Winchester  under  his  arm,  lived  over  and 
over  again  his  parting  with  Marion.  Smith,  armed 
like  a  pirate,  and  itching  for  a  fight,  was  happier 


O'Rourke  to  the  Rescue         219 

than  he  had  ever  been.  He  had  a  heavy  strain  of 
the  bulldog  in  him,  had  this  valet  named  Smith,  also 
a  fine  respect  for  gentlemen,  and  a  love  of  their 
companionship. 

It  was  dark  in  the  gardens.  Smith  was  down- 
stairs in  the  billiard-room,  motionless  and  wide 
awake.  Hemming  and  Hicks  were  smoking,  one 
on  each  side  of  the  upper  hall  window,  which  over- 
looked the  front  steps,  the  driveway,  and  the  great 
gates. 

"  The  poor  fellows  will  be  sadly  disappointed 
when  they  get  in  and  find  the  Tetsons  and  the 
money  gone,"  remarked  Hemming,  calmly,  "  though 
their  stupidity  in  thinking  them  still  here  beats  me," 

"  There  are  some  things  of  value  in  the  house," 
replied  Hicks. 

"  Oh,  yes ;  they  might  melt  the  silver,"  suggested 
Hemming,  "  but  the  furniture  would  bother  them. 
Of  course  they  will  tear  up  the  place,  and  pot  us, 
and  try  to  get  revenge  that  way." 

"  Yes,"  replied  Hicks,  "  but  I  have  a  little  stone 
about  me."  He  opened  his  linen  tunic,  and  un- 
fastened a  narrow  cartridge-belt.  "  I  wear  it  next 
my  skin,"  he  said,  "  and  it  galls  me  a  bit  some- 
times." He  drew  a  brass  shell  from  one  of  the 
loops  and  with  his  penknife  extracted  a  cork  and 
a  wad  of  cotton  wool.  Then  he  shook  something 


220        Hemming,  the  Adventurer 

white  and  rough,  but  glowing  dimly,  into  the  palm 
of  Hemming's  hand.     He  laughed  softly. 

"  The  bridegroom's  gift  to  the  bride,"  he  said, 
—  "  if  the  bridegroom  gets  to  the  church.'' 

Hemming  gazed  at  it  in  silence. 

"  Cut  and  polished,  what  would  it  be  worth  ?  " 
asked  its  owner.  His  voice  was  low  and  eager.  He 
placed  a  trembling  hand  on  his  friend's  knee. 

"  I  have  seen  diamonds  in  the  rough  before," 
replied  Hemming,  "  but  never  one  as  large  as  this. 
Brazilian  stones  vary  a  good  deal  in  quality.  It 
may  stand  for  a  fortune,  or  perhaps  for  nothing 
more  than  a  respectable  cottage,  with  stables,  a  pad- 
dock, and  an  orchard,  and  maybe  a  shooting  in 
Scotland." 

"  That  would  do  for  us,"  said  Hicks,  grinning 
like  a  schoolboy.  "  Old  Tetson  could  manage  the 
orchard,  and  Mrs.  Tetson  could  see  that  he  didn't 
get  his  feet  wet."  For  a  few  moments  he  seemed 
to  be  following  this  dream  of  bucolic  bliss. 

Then  he  continued :  "  I  bought  it  in  Pernambuco 
last  December  from  a  drunken  sailor,  a  cook  or 
something  like  that,  who  had  run  away  from  a 
wind-jammer.  He  didn't  think  much  of  it.  It  had 
been  given  him  by  an  old  woman,  —  at  least,  so  he 
said,  but  more  likely  he  stole  it.  I  paid  fifteen 


O'Rourke  to  the  Rescue          221 

milreis  for  it,  —  fifteen  milreis,  with  the  exchange 
at  ninepence." 

"  Put  it  away,"  said  Hemming,  "  and  keep  that 
belt  next  your  hide,  no  matter  how  much  it  galls." 

Hicks  replaced  the  stone  in  the  empty  shell,  and 
the  shell  in  his  belt. 

"  And  she  thinks  I  haven't  a  cent,"  he  whispered. 
"Isn't  she  a  brick?" 

The  Englishman  leaned  back,  out  of  range  of 
the  open  window,  and  relit  his  cigar.  Suddenly 
Hicks  bent  forward,  listening. 

"  Did  you  hear  that?  "  he  said. 

But  Hemming  had  heard  no  unusual  sound,  only 
the  footsteps  of  their  guards,  and  the  noise  of  men 
singing  at  the  barracks. 

"  It's  the  first  time  I  have  heard  an  old  '  Sam 
Peabody '  in  Brazil,"  said  the  American. 

"Who?"  said  Hemming,  wondering  if  his 
friend's  temperature  had  gone  up  again. 

"  It's  a  bird,  some  sort  of  sparrow  we  have  in 
the  North,"  replied  Hicks.  He  left  the  hall  quietly, 
and  hung  out  of  a  window  in  his  own  room.-  Pres- 
ently, from  the  shrubbery  below  him,  came  the 
familiar  notes  again.  He  wet  his  lips  with  his 
tongue,  and  whistled  the  clear  call  himself.  He 
was  answered  immediately.  He  peered  down  into 
the  dim  garden.  The  only  light  was  that  of  the 


222         Hemming,  the  Adventurer 

stars.  He  could  see  nothing.  No  leaf  stirred  in 
the  shrubbery,  and  there  was  neither  sight  nor  sound 
of  the  enemy  on  that  side  of  the  house. 

"  If  you  don't  intend  to  let  us  in,"  said  a  quiet 
voice,  "  you  might  pass  out  a  couple  of  drinks." 

"  Whiskey  and  soda  for  me,"  said  the  voice  of 
Captain  Santosa. 

Hicks  ran  down-stairs,  and  Hemming  followed 
him.  They  unbarred  a  window,  and  Smith  stood 
ready  with  his  rifle  at  port.  In  crawled  O'Rourke 
and  Santosa,  very  wet  as  to  clothing,  but  very  dry 
inside. 

"  The  Campbells  have  arrived,"  said  O'Rourke, 
brushing  mud  from  his  leggings.  Hemming,  for  a 
moment,  was  dumbfounded  at  this  unexpected  ap- 
pearance. 

"  God  bless  you,  Bertram,"  he  said  at  last,  and 
they  shook  hands  warmly. 

"  I  thought,  a  few  days  ago,  that  it  was  chance 
that  brought  me  to  Brazil,"  said  O'Rourke,  "  but 
really,  little  fellow,  it  must  have  been  your  guardian 
angel.  What  a  chap  you  are  for  getting  into  silly 
messes.  There  seems  to  be  a  row  whenever  you 
arrive." 

"  This  row  is  not  Hemming's  fault,"  protested 
Hicks.  O'Rourke  and  Hemming  laughed  happily, 


O'Rourke  to  the  Rescue         223 

for  both  felt  that,  together,  they  could  pull  out  of 
the  worst  scrape  ever  invented. 

"  This  gentleman  would  come,"  said  Santosa, 
*'"  and  at  a  pace  that  nearly  wore  me  to  the  bone." 

Just  then  Smith  held  a  tray  toward  the  late  ar- 
rivals. 

"  We  left  McPhey  organizing  a  relief  expedition 
to  come  by  land,"  O'Rourke  informed  them,  after 
quenching  his  thirst,  "  and  the  major,  after  doing 
his  business,  will  bring  a  party  up  by  boat,  —  a 
company  or  two  of  government  troops." 

"  Where  did  you  leave  the  horses  ?  "  asked  Hem- 
ming. 

"  Up  the  trail  a  little  way,  with  a  dusky  admirer 
of  yours,"  replied  O'Rourke. 

The  besieged  returned  to  the  upper  hall.  Hicks 
gave  a  clear  though  somewhat  lengthy  account  of 
the  rebellion.  Santosa  told  them  of  his  ride  to 
Pernambuco  and  O'Rourke  gave  such  news  as  he 
could  of  the  outside  world.  Hemming,  with  his 
eyes  on  the  dark  blue  square  of  the  window,  tried 
to  formulate  a  plan  by  which  five  men  might  pro- 
tect themselves  and  the  property  against  five  hun- 
dred a  day  or  two  longer.  He  knew  that,  if  the 
colonel  really  intended  violence,  the  crisis  must  soon 
come. 

Santosa  kicked  off  his  boots,  and  went  to  sleep 


224         Hemming,  the  Adventurer 

on  the  floor.  Hicks,  seated  with  his  rifle  across  his 
knees,  also  slipped  away  to  the  land  of  Nod. 

"  If  you  have  no  objections,"  remarked  O'Rourke, 
"  I  will  take  a  bath.  Hope  the  enemy  won't  make 
any  hostile  move  while  I'm  splashing." 

Hemming  lit  another  cigar,  and  continued  his 
watch  by  the  open  window.  His  arm  pained  him 
a  good  deal,  so  it  was  not  hard  to  keep  awake. 
He  heard  the  guards  tramping  about,  and  now  and 
then  a  few  words  of  conversation,  or  a  snatch  of 
laughter.  He  heard  music  and  shouting  in  the  dis- 
tance, and  sometimes  the  faint  and  hurried  clatter 
of  hoofs.  All  the  windows  in  the  town  seemed 
alight.  A  cool  wind  stole  across  the  palms.  His 
thoughts  left  the  foolish,  drunken  men  without, 
and  the  adventurers  within,  and  journeyed,  with 
the  wind,  far  beyond  the  black  palms  and  the  little 
city.  The  report  of  a  rifle  brought  him  to  his  feet 
with  a  jump.  Hicks  also  was  out  of  his  chair. 
Santosa  was  pulling  on  his  boots.  They  hurried 
down-stairs  followed  by  O'Rourke  in  a  bath-towel. 

"  If  it's  a  fight,"  said  O'Rourke,  "  I'll  dry  myself 
and  join  you.  If  it's  just  skirmishing,  I'll  go  back 
to  my  tub." 

They  found  Smith  at  his  post  in  the  billiard-room. 

"What  is  the  trouble?"  asked  Hemming. 

"  Family  quarrel,  I  believe,  sir,"  replied  the  valet. 


O'Rourke  to  the  Rescue          225 

"  Two  people  have  been  talking  English  for  quite 
awhile,  just  a  little  way  off  that  window.  Then 
some  one  fired  a  shot,  and  they  dusted.  Think  it 
was  one  of  the  guards,  sir,  who  fired.  Drunk,  I 
suppose." 

"What  were  they  talking  about?"  asked  Hem- 
ming. 

"  Well,  sir,  I  couldn't  catch  much  of  it,"  replied 
Smith,  "  but  there  was  something  said  about  Mr. 
Tetson's  steamer,  the  Alligator,  and  about  the  fire- 
men and  engineers  being  prisoners.  From  what 
I  could  gather,  she  was  captured  about  half  a  mile 
down-stream  to-night  on  her  way  up.  One  of  the 
men  said  that  he  had  got  a  job  on  her,  because  he 
had  some  important  business  to  attend  to  up  here." 

"The  devil!"  exclaimed  Hicks.  "I  bet  they 
had  a  letter  for  me.'" 


CHAPTER    XIII. 

THE   UNEXPECTED   SAILOR 

MORNING  came,  and  with  it  the  colonel,  on  Hem- 
ming's  white  stallion. 

"  I  see,"  said  he,  in  Portuguese,  "  that  Captain 
Santosa  has  returned." 

Hemming  nodded.  The  colonel  pressed  a  trem- 
ulous hand  to  a  flushed  forehead. 

"  Damn  it,"  he  cried,  "  I  would  not  have  done  so. 
This  place  is  the  devil.  The  ice  factory  has  shut 
down,  and  my  drink  has  been  warm  for  two  days." 

"  Very  interesting,"  replied  the  Englishman,  "  but 
if  you  have  nothing  more  important  to  tell  me,  you 
will  excuse  me  if  I  return  to  my  bed." 

The  colonel  raised  his  hand. 

"  One  moment,"  said  he. 

Then  he  ordered  his  men  out  of  ear-shot.  He 
rolled  a  cigarette,  and  lit  it  with  unseemly  deliber- 
ation. 

"  I  have  been  remarkably  polite  and  friendly,"  he 
said,  "  but  now  I  have  your  steamer,  and  the  crew 
in  prison,  and  unless,  my  dear  fellow,  we  can 

226 


The  Unexpected  Sailor  227 

agree  —  "  He  stopped,  and  removed  his  hat,  the 
better  to  rub  his  brow.  Hemming  yawned. 

"  The  army,"  continued  the  Brazilian,  "  is  in  a 
dangerous  mood.  Unless  you  give  me  five  thousand 
milreis  to-night,  —  only  five  thousand  milreis,  —  I 
fear  that  I  can  restrain  my  brave  soldiers  no  longer. 
But  say  nothing  of  it  to  Senor  Cuddlehead." 

"  Give  me  time  to  shave,"  said  Hemming,  "  and 
then  —  " 

"  And  then  ?  "  asked  the  colonel. 

"  Why,  and  then,"  repeated  Hemming,  "  tell  the 
little  beasts  not  to  be  restrained  any  longer.  As 
for  the  money  —  you  may  go  to  the  devil  for  that." 

The  colonel  sighed,  and  mopped  his  neck  with  his 
wilted  handkerchief. 

"  It  is  too  warm  to  fight,"  he  said. 

"  You  will  find  it  so,"  retorted  the  Englishman. 

The  colonel  looked  up  helplessly. 

"  My  army,"  he  sighed,  "  how  can  I  restrain  it  ? 
I  hate  to  fight,  and  my  head  aches.  But  my  army 
must  have  some  money." 

"  I  don't  see  my  way  to  help  you,"  said  Hemming. 

"  The  revolution  is  a  failure  unless  you  surrender 
and  pay,"  cried  the  colonel.  "  Don't  you  under- 
stand, my  dear  Hemming?  I  do  not  like  bloodshed, 
but  —  well,  you  have  ruined  our  gentler  plan." 

"  You  might  carry  away  the  table  silver,"  replied 


228         Hemming,  the  Adventurer 

Hemming,  "  but  there  is  no  money.  That  has  all 
gone  to  the  coast.  No  doubt  the  house  and  furniture, 
and  even  the  forks  and  spoons,  belong  by  now  to  the 
Brazilian  government.  It  would  be  foolish  of  you 
to  damage  government  property  for  the  sake  of  a 
few  pounds.  It  would  mean  trouble,  my  friend." 

The  colonel  sagged  in  his  saddle  like  a  bag  of 
meal. 

"  I  cannot  argue,"  he  said,  listlessly.  "  It  is  too 
hot  to  talk.  My  head  aches  —  the  devil  take  it.  You 
should  not  have  sent  the  money." 

"  A  touch  of  sun,"  suggested  Hemming. 

The  fat  Brazilian  looked  at  the  blue  sky  through 
bloodshot,  half-closed  eyes. 

"  The  sun,"  he  said,  "  why,  yes,  the  sun.  Damn 
the  sun." 

He  swayed  for  a  moment,  and  then  slid  in  a  heap 
to  the  ground.  His  men  had  been  watching  him, 
and  now  two  of  them  ran  forward  and  carried  the 
yielding,  flabby  body  to  the  nearest  fountain. 

"  Sun  and  whiskey,"  commented  Hemming.  Then 
he  returned  to  his  bedroom  and  commenced  to  shave. 

By  this  time  the  little  garrison  was  astir.  Hicks, 
with  a  sandwich  in  one  hand  and  his  rifle  in  the 
other,  opened  the  shutters  of  one  of  the  lower  win- 
dows and  looked  out.  Not  ten  feet  away  stood  a 
man  in  a  blue  cotton  shirt,  and  dirty  canvas  trousers. 


The  Unexpected  Sailor  229 

The  blotchy,  grinning  face  and  bowed  legs  struck 
him  with  an  unpleasant  sense  of  familiarity. 

"  Hello,  mister,"  said  the  stranger.  "  I'd  like  to 
'ave  a  word  wid  one  of  you  gents." 

"Which  one?"  asked  Hicks. 

"  There  you  'ave  me,"  replied  the  man.  "  Ye  see, 
I  was  drunk  an'  it  were  a  dark  night.  Don't  know 
as  I'd  know  'im  widout  puttin'  a  few  questions." 
He  took  a  couple  of  steps  toward  the  open  window. 
Hicks  put  the  remaining  portion  of  the  sandwich 
into  his  mouth,  and  shifted  the  rifle. 

"  Ease  off  that  thar  gun  a  p'int  or  two,"  cried  the 
sailor. 

Hicks  had  been  taught,  while  young,  not  to  talk 
with  his  mouth  full.  So  he  made  no  answer. 

"  I  ain't  looking  fer  no  trouble,"  said  the  seaman. 
"  All  I  want  is  ter  come  aboard  an'  'ave  a  quiet  jaw 
wid  you  and  yer  mates,  afore  this  blasted  old  craft 
'awls  down  'er  colours." 

"  What  about?  "  asked  Hicks. 

"  That  thar  dimund,  skipper,"  replied  the  man, 
with  an  evil  grin. 

Hicks  changed  colour.  O'Rourke  stuck  his  head 
out  of  the  window.  He  glared  at  the  man  in  the 
blue  shirt  for  several  seconds. 

"  Belay  that  talk,"  he  said,  "  and  stop  up  the  slack 
of  it  neat  and  shipshape." 


230        Hemming,  the  Adventurer 

The  man  of  the  sea  rolled  his  eyes  in  pained  as- 
tonishment. 

"  So  it  was  you,  Mr.  O'Rourke/'  he  sneered. 
"  Now  that's  a  gentleman's  trick  for  you." 

"  Yes,  it  was  I  kicked  you  down  the  hatch,  if  that 
is  what  you  are  mentioning,"  replied  O'Rourke, 
"  and  I  think  you  know  enough  of  me  to  obey  my 
orders  on  the  jump.  I've  eaten  enough  of  your 
slush-fried  grub  to  kill  a  whole  ship's  crew,  you 
thieving  sea-cook.  I  know  you  for  too  big  a  coward 
to  step  out  on  to  the  foot-rope,  but  brave  enough 
to  jab  a  marlinspike  between  a  mate's  ribs.  So 
clear  out  of  this." 

The  seaman  shuffled  his  feet  and  grinned. 

"  Not  so  quick,"  he  retorted ;  "  'and  over  that 
dimund  an'  I'll  go,  Mister  O'Rourke." 

"  Diamond,  you  longshore  gallows-bird,  I  don't 
know  what  you  are  talking  about,  but  I'll  hand 
over  something  that'll  make  you  hop,  in  a  minute," 
cried  O'Rourke,  in  a  fury. 

Hicks  threw  his  Winchester  to  his  shoulder. 
"  Come  right  in,"  he  said,  "  or  I'll  blow  the  third 
button  of  your  dirty  shirt,  counting  from  the  top, 
right  through  your  chest." 

The  seaman  pulled  a  hideous  face,  and  spat  into 
the  dust. 

"  Guess   I'll  accept   your  kind  invite,"   he  said. 


The  Unexpected  Sailor  231 

"  It's  real  civil  of  gents  like  you  to  treat  a  poor 
sailorman  like  this."  But  he  did  not  move. 

O'Rourke  eyed  him  with  a  new  interest,  and  Hicks 
squinted  along  the  black  barrel. 

"  Don't  trouble  about  that  knife.  We  will  lend 
you  one  if  we  keep  you  to  lunch,"  said  O'Rourke. 

The  fellow's  face  widened  in  a  sickly  smile  as  he 
entered  the  billiard-room  by  way  of  the  open  win- 
dow. After  relieving  him  of  an  amazingly  sharp 
sheath-knife,  they  tied  his  hands  and  feet  and  locked 
him  safe  in  an  empty  room. 

"  You  see,  O'Rourke,  I  am  the  man  he  is  after; 
I  have  the  diamond  he  talks  about,"  explained  Hicks. 

O'Rourke  whistled  softly,  and  smiled  inquiringly 
at  the  big  fever-thinned  secretary. 

"  Take  it  from  him  ?  "  he  queried. 

"  I  bought  it  from  him,"  replied  Hicks,  "  and  it's 
on  me  now." 

"  Hold  on  to  it,  then,  old  chap,"  said  O'Rourke, 
"  and  don't  gab.  He  hates  me,  anyway,  so  he  may 
just  as  well  keep  on  thinking  I  have  the  stone.  He 
was  cook  aboard  a  barquentine  in  which  I  made  a 
voyage  last  year.  I  was  a  passenger,  —  the  skipper's 
friend,  —  and  when  the  skipper  was  sick  I  had  to 
interview  the  cook  once  or  twice." 

The  colonel  died  that  evening,  at  a  quarter  past 
six,  of  too  much  rum  and  whiskey  and  not  enough 


232         Hemming,  the  Adventurer 

medical  treatment.  His  soldiers  had  done  their  best 
to  save  his  life.  Three  of  them,  with  the  best  inten- 
tions, held  him  upside  down  in  a  fountain  for  a  good 
fifteen  minutes,  at  the  very  beginning  of  his  illness. 
Then  they  had  carried  him  to  his  own  quarters,  and 
watched  him  expire. 

The  Senor  Cuddlehead  now  took  command,  for 
the  officers  were  in  a  funk.  Through  an  interpreter 
he  lectured  and  encouraged  the  men.  He  assured 
them  that,  should  Hemming  escape  from  the  house 
alive,  they  would  all  swing  for  it,  sooner  or  later; 
and  that  should  they  capture  and  bear  away  the 
other  inmates,  every  man  would  find  himself  rich. 
What  matter  if  the  ladies  had  escaped,  he  said  — 
surely  the  friends  of  Mr.  Hicks  would  gladly  pay 
a  great  ransom,  should  they  succeed  in  carrying  him 
away  to  the  hills. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

THE   ATTACK 

WHEN  news  of  the  colonel's  death  reached  Hem- 
ming, he  sighed  with  relief. 

"  That  ends  it,"  he  said.  "  The  old  man  was  a 
fool,  but  he  held  them  together." 

"  What  about  that  Penthouse-Cuddlehead  chap  ? 
He  seems  to  be  taking  an  interest  in  it,"  said  Hicks. 

"  He  is  sneak  enough  for  anything,  but  he  is  also 
a  coward,"  replied  Hemming. 

"  This  is  a  poor  sort  of  revolution,"  said 
O'Rourke.  "  I  have  had  more  excitement  waiting 
for  my  mail  at  the  window  of  a  country  post-office. 
A  Sunday-school  treat  beats  it  hands  down.  Davis 
could  invent  a  better  one  in  his  sleep." 

"  Please  don't  talk  like  an  ass,  old  chap,"  said 
Hemming.  He  found  the  revolution  quite  exciting 
enough. 

"  I  shall  go  and  look  at  my  prisoner  —  he  may  be 
in  a  better  humour  than  you,"  remarked  O'Rourke, 
pensively. 

233 


234         Hemming,  the  Adventurer 

Hicks  followed  him  to  the  door  of  the  locked 
room. 

"  These  duffers  don't  want  to  fight.  They  never 
did,  either.  It  was  all  a  bluff  of  the  colonel's,"  he 
said. 

The  other  shook  his  head. 

"  Wait  until  we  hear  from  Hemming's  enemy.  I 
think  he'll  take  a  turn  before  we  get  out  of  this,"  he 
replied.  "  He  has  played  poor  old  Hemming  some 
low  tricks  before  now,"  he  added,  and  gave  Hicks  a 
hint  of  the  trouble  in  Hemming's  past.  Hicks  passed 
on  and  descended  to  the  billiard-room,  and  O'Rourke 
paused  at  the  door.  He  turned  the  key  and  stepped 
into  the  room.  He  dodged  before  his  eyes  had 
warned  him  of  danger.  The  huge  fist  landed  on  a 
point  of  his  left  shoulder,  and  sent  him  spinning 
across  the  room.  He  recovered  himself  in  time  to 
partially  evade  the  seaman's  bull-like  rush.  Stag- 
gered and  hurt,  he  closed  with  his  antagonist,  won- 
dering dully  if  the  fellow  had  broken  the  cords,  or 
had  worked  the  knots  loose.  It  did  not  occur  to 
him  to  call  for  help.  The  door  had  closed  behind 
him.  The  mariner's  huge  arms  seemed  to  force  his 
very  heart  out  of  its  place.  The  bowed,  sturdy  legs 
wrenched  at  his  knees.  The  hot,  evil  breath  burned 
against  his  neck.  For  a  moment  the  pain  of  it  closed 
his  eyes.  He  was  bent  nearly  double,  and  pin-points 


The  Attack  235 

of  light  flashed  in  his  brain.  Then  he  recovered  his 
wits  and  his  courage.  He  twisted  himself  so  that 
his  shoulder  caught  the  sailor's  chin.  This  gave  him 
a  chance  to  breathe,  and  eased  the  crushing  weight 
upon  his  ribs.  It  was  O'Rourke's  belief  that,  in  a 
rough  and  tumble  fight,  without  knives,  and  muscles 
being  equal,  the  gentleman  has  always  the  advantage 
of  the  plebeian.  So  once  again  he  settled  himself 
to  prove  it.  But  this  time  the  plebeian  was  unusually 
desperate.  He  wanted  a  diamond,  and  he  hated  the 
man  his  hands  were  upon.  All  his  superiors  were 
detestable  to  his  uncouth  soul.  He  had  feared 
O'Rourke  before  this.  Now  he  felt  no  fear  —  only 
a  mad  desire  to  knock  the  breath  out  of  that  well- 
kept  body,  and  mark  with  blood  the  hard-set,  scorn- 
ful face.  Then  for  the  coast  again,  with  the  stone 
of  fabulous  price.  For  a  minute  or  two  O'Rourke 
played  a  waiting  game.  Twice,  by  his  quickness  and 
length  of  leg,  he  avoided  a  bad  throw.  His  back 
and  neck  had  some  close  calls.  After  discovering 
that  he  was  in  better  condition  than  his  opponent, 
he  began  to  force  matters.  Within  ten  minutes  of 
his  entrance,  he  knelt  upon  the  sailor's  bulky  shoul- 
ders, and  with  colourless  lips  muttered  strange  oaths. 
Though  his  eyes  were  bright,  he  was  not  nice  to 
look  at. 

The  original  savage  glared  exultingly  from  that 


236        Hemming,  the  Adventurer 

white  face.  The  sailor  lay  still,  with  blood  from  lips 
and  nose  staining  the  floor,  a  pitiful  and  ungainly 
figure. 

Presently  O'Rourke  got  to  his  feet  and  staggered 
from  the  room.  Smith  caught  him  just  in  time  to 
help  him  to  a  chair.  It  had  been  a  big  effort  for 
a  warm  day. 

Hicks  nursed  the  mariner  back  to  his  miserable 
existence.  This  required  only  a  few  minutes,  for 
brandy  had  an  almost  magic  effect  upon  this  out- 
cast of  the  sea.  He  emptied  one  decanter,  and,  see- 
ing no  chance  of  a  second,  made  a  dash  for  the 
open  window,  taking  the  sill  in  a  flying  jump.  But 
the  window  was  on  the  second  floor.  When  Smith 
went  out  to  look  at  the  body  there  was  no  trace 
of  it. 

"  I  could  have  sworn,"  said  Hicks,  with  a  shudder, 
"  that  I  heard  his  neck  break,  but  maybe  it  was  just 
the  bushes  giving  way." 

The  night  was  bright  with  stars.  The  little  garri- 
son sat  up  and  smoked  by  the  open  windows.  On 
the  lower  floor,  windows  were  shuttered  and  barred, 
and  doors  were  locked.  If  this  game  of  war  were 
worth  playing  at  all,  it  was  worth  playing  well. 
Shortly  before  midnight  some  one  staggered  up  to 
the  front  of  the  house,  carrying  a  paper  lantern  at 
the  end  of  a  stick,  and  singing.  The  guards  jeered 


The  Attack  237 

him.  It  was  the  sea-cook,  drunk  and  bedraggled. 
He  stopped  his  song  in  the  middle  of  a  line,  and 
waved  his  lantern  toward  the  window  above  him. 

"  Come  out,"  he  bawled,  "  an'  gimme  that  di- 
mund.  Gesh  you  thought  I  couldn't  jump  out  er 
that  windy,  didn't  yer?  Gesh  yer'll  be  jumpin'  outa 
it  yerself  perty  soon." 

The  lantern  caught  fire,  and  the  gaudy  paper  globe 
went  up  in  a  little  burst  of  flame.  The  man  threw 
it  from  him,  and  lurched  on  to  the  veranda.  A 
scattered  volley  broke,  here  and  there,  from  the 
garden.  A  few  bullets  pinged  into  the  woodwork 
of  the  windows.  Shouts  of  laughter  went  up  from 
the  clusters  of  trees  and  shrubs.  The  sailor  ham- 
mered the  front  door.  The  guards  sneaked  away 
into  the  friendly  shadows. 

"  They  are  all  drunk,"  said  Hicks,  "  and  they'll 
try  to  rush  us,  for  sure." 

"  Then  the  colonel's  death  was  not  an  unmixed 
blessing,"  remarked  O'Rourke. 

Hemming  ordered  Smith  and  Hicks  to  windows 
on  the  other  side  of  the  house. 

"  Shall  we  shoot  over  their  heads,  or  may  we 
pump  it  right  into  them  ?  "  asked  Hicks. 

"  I  leave  it  to  your  own  discretion,"  replied  Hem- 
ming. 


238         Hemming,  the  Adventurer 

Smith  grinned.  He  promised  himself  an  easy  in- 
terpretation of  the  word. 

Hemming  took  the  window  in  the  upper  hall,  over- 
looking the  front  steps  and  the  driveway,  himself. 

There  was  not  a  figure  in  sight.  But  the  glass  of 
the  window  lay  broken  on  the  floor,  and  the  diamond- 
hunter  kept  up  his  drunken  disturbance  on  the  ve- 
randa below.  The  firing  out  of  the  shadows  contin- 
ued, and  drew  nearer.  Hemming  extinguished  his 
cigar  and  sat  on  the  floor.  He  enjoyed  quite  a  novel 
sensation  when  a  bullet  sang  its  way  through  the 
open  window,  like  a  great  bee,  and  ripped  into  a  shelf 
full  of  books  half-way  down  the  hall.  He  had  never 
before  been  under  fire  behind  a  window.  All  about 
him  he  could  hear  the  thumping  of  bullets  against 
the  tiles  of  the  outer  walls.  Some  one  shouted  in 
English,  ordering  the  drunken  sailor  to  come  away 
from  the  house, 

"  Yer  want  my  dimund,  that's  wot  yer  want,"  he 
shouted  back,  "  but  yer  don't  get  so  much  ash  a 
peep  at  it,  see  ?  " 

Hemming  heard  and  frowned,  as  he  polished  his 
eye-glass  on  his  sleeve.  Two  shots  sounded  in  quick 
succession  from  a  room  on  the  left  of  the  hall. 
Hemming  heard  Santosa  laugh,  and  O'Rourke  con- 
gratulate him.  The  firing  now  seemed  to  centre 
mostly  upon  the  front  of  the  villa.  Hemming,  as 


The  Attack  239 

yet,  had  not  returned  a  shot.  Suddenly  the  white 
man,  moved  by  a  drunken  whim,  left  his  hammering 
at  the  door,  and  pranced  into  the  starlight.  The 
shooting  of  his  friends  was  everywhere.  Elevation 
had  little  attention  from  them,  and  an  unusually  low 
ball  found  him  out.  He  did  not  spring  forward  with 
uplifted  hands;  neither  did  he  clutch  at  his  breast 
and  stagger  onward.  With  an  expression  of  pained 
astonishment  on  his  face,  and  a  heave  of  his  fat 
shoulders,  he  sank  to  his  hips,  and  then  rolled  over 
and  lay  still.  To  Hemming,  it  looked  as  if  his  fat 
legs  had  simply  crumpled  under  him  like  paper. 

A  dozen  men  charged  across  the  starlit  driveway. 
Hemming  dropped  two  of  them.  The  others  ran 
up  the  steps  and  across  the  veranda,  and  threw 
themselves  against  the  door.  But  they  were  small 
men,  and  the  door  was  a  heavy  one,  and  well  bolted. 
Hemming  left  the  window,  and  at  the  head  of  the 
stairs  met  O'Rourke. 

"  A  brace  and  a  half  to  me,"  said  that  gentleman, 
lightly. 

The  bitter  smoke  drifted  from  doorway  to  door- 
way through  the  dark.  Hemming  got  his  sword 
from  his  bedroom,  and  he  and  O'Rourke  waited  at 
the  top  of  the  stairs. 

O'Rourke's  heart  was  glad  within  him.  Shoulder 
to  shoulder  with  a  man  like  Hemming,  it  would  be 


240        Hemming,  the  Adventurer 

a  lovely  fight.  The  door  could  not  give  in  soon 
enough  to  suit  him.  He  had  ten  shots  in  his  revolv- 
ers. Then  he  could  break  a  few  heads  with  his 
clubbed  rifle,  surely,  and,  after  that,  when  they  had 
him  down,  he  could  kick  for  awhile.  He  did  not 
think  of  his  parents  in  the  North,  his  friends,  his 
half-written  articles,  nor  his  creditors.  But  he  was 
sorry  that  Miss  Hudson  would  never  hear  of  his 
heroic  finish. 

"  We  have  had  some  fun  together,  and  I  hope  this 
will  not  be  the  last,"  said  Hemming.  They  shook 
hands.  Then  the  door  came  in  with  a  rending,  side- 
long fall.  A  bunch  of  men  sprang  across  it  and 
made  for  the  staircase,  just  discernible  to  them  by 
the  light  from  the  doorway. 

"  Fire  into  the  brown,"  said  Hemming,  quietly. 

The  four  revolvers  jumped  and  spit  —  once  — 
twice  —  and  the  wounded  slipped  back  against  their 
comrades'  legs.  More  men  entered  the  hall  below, 
and  filed  wildly  into  the  darkness  above  and  around. 
Then  Hicks,  Santosa,  and  Smith  left  their  windows 
and  pumped  lead  into  the  housebreakers.  The  noise 
was  deafening.  The  air  was  unfit  to  breathe. 
O'Rourke  wondered  at  something  hot  and  wet 
against  his  leg.  Hemming  was  angry  because  none 
would  come  within  cutting  distance.  Smith  felt  very 
sick,  but  did  not  mention  the  fact.  He  knelt  against 


The  Attack  241 

the  bannisters,  and  fumbled  with  the  hammer  of  his 
revolver,  and  the  blood  from  a  great  furrow  in  his 
neck  ran  down  one  of  the  polished  rounds  that 
supported  the  carved  hand-rail.  But  it  was  dark, 
and  he  could  not  see  it.  But  presently  he  dropped 
his  revolver  and  felt  the  blood  with  his  fingers,  and 
wondered,  in  a  dim  way,  who  it  was  dared  to  make 
such  a  mess  in  Mr.  Tetson's  house. 

The  firing  outside  the  house,  which  had  died  away 
for  a  minute,  increased  suddenly,  and  cries  of  warn- 
ing and  consternation  rang  above  it.  More  men 
came  to  the  open  doorway.  They  were  armed  with 
rifles  instead  of  the  short  carbines  of  the  Pernamba 
army.  They  discharged  a  volley  or  two  into  the 
backs  of  the  scrambling  soldiers  on  the  stairs. 

"  That  ends  the  revolution,"  remarked  Hemming 
calmly,   removing  his  monocle  from  his  eye. 

"  I  think  we  could  have  done  it  without  help,"  said 
Santosa. 

The  men  on  the  stairs  cried  for  mercy. 

"  Are  you  all  safe,  up  there?  "  asked  a  voice  from 
the  door. 

Smith  clung  to  the  rounds  of  the  bannisters  and 
closed  his  eyes,  and  O'Rourke  leaned  against  the 
wall  with  one  knee  drawn  up. 

"  The  same  leg,"  he  muttered,  and  twisted  his 
face  at  the  pain  of  it 


CHAPTER    XV. 

REST    IN    PERNAMBUCO 

Miss  TETSON  and  Mr.  Valentine  Hicks  were  mar- 
ried in  the  little  English  church  in  Pernambuco.  The 
ex-President  gave  the  bride  away,  the  ex-command- 
er-in-chief  supported  the  groom,  and  the  major  sup- 
ported the  clergyman  officiating.  Mrs.  McPhey  sup- 
plied the  wedding  breakfast,  and  McPhey  made  all 
the  speeches.  Then  the  Tetsons  and  Hicks  sailed 
away  for  New  York,  leaving  Herbert  Hemming  to 
nurse  Mr.  O'Rourke  and  Smith. 

The  invalids  were  housed  in  cool  rooms  in  the 
McPhey  mansion,  on  the  outskirts  of  the  city,  and 
they  and  Hemming  were  guests  of  honour  for  as 
long  as  they  would  stay  in  the  country. 

O'Rourke's  leg  was  in  a  bad  way,  but  poor  Smith's 
neck  was  in  a  worse.  For  the  first  week  of  his 
attendance  the  clever  American  surgeon  who  had 
them  both  in  charge  felt  anxious  enough  for  the 
valet's  life.  But  modern  methods  and  unflagging 

242 


Rest  in  Pernambuco  243 

care  won  the  day,  and  a  wound  that,  in  the  time 
of  the  Crimean  War,  meant  certain  death,  left  noth- 
ing but  a  sunken  white  scar. 

A  couple  of  months  passed  quietly.  Hemming 
worked  at  a  series  of  short  stories,  and  learned  the 
gaudy-coloured,  easy-going  city  by  heart.  He  re- 
ceived several  letters  from  Hicks,  and  heard  that 
the  diamond  had  been  sold  at  a  good  price. 
O'Rourke  pulled  on  his  riding-boots  again,  and  exer- 
cised McPhey's  stable,  night  and  morning. 

Hemming's  white  stallion  was  once  more  an  in- 
mate of  this  stable.  Smith  recovered  his  strength 
slowly,  and  spent  his  days  in  easeful  meditations  and 
unnamed  regrets  for  the  good  time  of  righting  and 
comradeship. 

One  day,  Captain  Santosa  (who,  through  the  in- 
fluence of  McPhey  and  the  major,  had  procured  a 
commission  in  the  cavalry  regiment  stationed  in  Per- 
nambuco) brought  news  of  Penthouse's  death  to 
Hemming.  Penthouse  had  been  found  in  a  dying 
condition  in  the  hut  of  a  poor  woman,  on  the  trail 
above  Pernamba,  by  a  party  of  government  troops. 
He  had  been  shot  during  the  attack  upon  the  Presi- 
dent's villa,  and,  crawling  away  from  the  fight,  had 
been  found  by  the  peasant  woman,  and  tended  by 
her  through  his  weeks  of  suffering.  She  had  ex- 
plained to  the  officer  in  command  that  an  English- 


244         Hemming,  the  Adventurer 

man  had  been  kind  to  her,  and  for  his  sake  she  had 
housed  and  nursed  this  other  Englishman.  Thus, 
through  Hemming's  kindness,  had  his  enemy  re- 
ceived kindness. 


END  OF  PART   II. 


PART   THREE 


CHAPTER   I. 

THE    REAL    GIRL 

HEMMING  and  O'Rourke,  with  Smith  as  valet-in- 
common,  reached  New  York  in  November,  and  shiv- 
ered in  their  tropical  underclothes.  Tne  dismal  as- 
pect of  the  great  city,  as  viewed  at  nine  o'clock  of 
a  drizzly  morning,  daunted  even  the  valet.  At  sight 
of  the  wide,  wet  streets  and  soaring  office  buildings, 
depressing  memories  of  Dodder's  death  came  to 
Hemming.  The  chill  brought  a  twinge  to  O'Rourke's 
leg,  and  the  swinging,  clanging  cars  and  hustling 
crowds  offended  his  sense  of  the  fitness  of  things. 

In  a  four-wheeler  they  went  direct  to  a  bachelor 
apartment-house  on  Washington  Square,  in  which 
their  friend,  Mr.  Valentine  Hicks,  had  engaged  for 
them  an  airy  suite  of  rooms.  As  they  passed  under 
the  white  archway,  entering  the  old  square,  their 
moods  lifted. 

"  I  believe  I'll  feel  all  right,  when  I  get  into  a 
woollen  undershirt,"  said  O'Rourke. 

Hemming  soon  settled  down  to  his  work.  He 
«47 


248         Hemming,  the  Adventure 

was  more  systematic  about  it  than  O'Rourke,  work- 
ing several  hours  every  morning  at  articles  for  the 
magazines,  and  part  of  every  evening  at  a  novel. 
O'Rourke,  who  had  many  friends  and  acquaintances 
in  and  about  Newspaper  Row,  spent  but  little  of  his 
time  at  home,  and  did  his  work  when  he  had  to. 
Both  O'Rourke  and  Hemming  were  frequent  visitors 
at  another  house  on  the  square,  where  the  Hickses 
and  Tetsons  lived  in  comfort.  Hemming's  novel 
was  built  up,  chapter  by  chapter,  and  relentlessly 
torn  down,  only  to  be  rebuilt  with  much  toil.  The 
general  outline  of  the  story  had  come  to  him  years 
before,  one  night  while  he  was  playing  poker  in  the 
chart- room  of  an  ocean  tramp.  He  had  written  a 
few  pages  next  morning,  behind  the  canvas  dodgers 
of  the  bridge.  Ther  it  had  been  pushed  aside  by  the 
press  of  other  work ;  but  he  had  returned  to  it  now 
and  then,  in  many  parts  of  the  world.  The  chapters 
done  in  Pernamba  were  the  only  ones  that  did  not 
seem  to  require  rewriting.  By  this  time  the  original 
plot  was  almost  forgotten,  and  a  more  satisfactory 
one  had  developed. 

One  Thursday  night,  having  finished  the  twentieth 
chapter  as  well  as  he  knew  how,  he  changed  his 
clothes  and  went  over  to  call  on  Mrs.  Hicks.  It 
was  her  evening.  He  went  alpne,  for  O'Rourke  had 
dined  out,  and  had  not  returned.  About  a  dozen 


The  Real  Girl  249 

people  were  already  there.  While  he  was  talking 
to  McFarland  of  the  Gazette,  he  noticed  a  girl  talk- 
ing to  their  hostess.  Just  why  she  attracted  him  he 
could  not  say  for  a  moment.  Mrs.  Hicks  was  more 
beautiful,  and  there  were  at  least  two  women  in  the 
room  as  tastefully  gowned.  She  looked  girlish  be- 
side her  stately  hostess.  But  there  was  a  jaunty, 
gallant  air  about  the  carriage  of  her  head  and  shoul- 
ders, which  seemed  to  Hemming  particularly  charm- 
ing. Her  voice  was  deep,  and  her  laughter  was 
unaffected  as  that  of  a  boy. 

"  You  too?  "  laughed  McFarland. 

"  I  never  saw  her  before,"  said  Hemming. 

"  Then  let  me  tell  you  now,"  said  the  editor,  "  that 
it  is  no  use.  Even  your  eye-glass  could  not  awaken 
her  from  her  romantic  dream." 

"  Count  me  out,"  replied  Hemming,  dryly,  "  but 
tell  me  something  about  it." 

"  All  I  know,"  said  McFarland,  "  is  that  there  are 
ten  of  us  —  eleven  counting  the  lucky  unknown.  We 
ten  used  to  hate  one  another,  but  now  we  are  as 
brothers  in  our  common  misery.  But  tell  me,  is  it 
true  that  you  are  working  on  a  novel?  I  don't  see 
what  you  want  to  go  messing  with  fiction  for,  when 
you  can  do  stuff  like  that  Turkish  book." 

While  Hemming  and  the  journalist  chatted  aim- 
lessly in  Mrs.  Hicks's  drawing-room,  O'Rourke 


250         Hemming,  the  Adventurer 

made  history  across  the  square.  He  had  returned  to 
his  quarters  only  a  few  minutes  after  his  friend  had 
left ;  and  had  scarcely  got  his  pipe  well  lighted  when 
Smith  announced  "  a  gentleman  to  see  Captain  Hem- 
ming, very  particularly."  O'Rourke  got  to  his  feet 
and  found  the  gentleman  already  at  the  sitting-room 
door.  The  caller  was  in  evening  clothes.  His  ulster 
hung  open,  and  in  his  hand  he  carried  an  opera- 
hat. 

"  Hemming  is  out  for  the  evening,"  said 
O'Rourke,  "  but  perhaps  I  can  give  him  your  mes- 
sage. Come  in,  won't  you  ?  " 

The  stranger  entered  and  sat  down  by  the  fire. 
He  glanced  about  the  walls  of  the  room,  and  then 
fixed  an  intent,  though  inoffensive,  gaze  on 
O'Rourke. 

"  I  heard,  only  this  morning,  that  Hemming  was 
in  town,"  he  said.  "  We  saw  a  good  deal  of  each 
other,  once,  in  Porto  Rico." 

"  In  Porto  Rico?  "  exclaimed  O'Rourke,  knitting 
his  brows. 

"Yes.     Have  you  ever  been  there?" 

"  No,  though  I've  sampled  most  of  the  islands. 
But  go  on  —  I  interrupted  you.  I  beg  your  pardon." 

"  Don't  speak  of  it.  I  only  came  for  the  address 
of  a  friend  of  Hemming's.  But  perhaps  you  could 


The  Real  Girl  251 

tell  me  in  what  quarter  of  the  globe  Mr.  O'Rourke 
hangs  out?  He's  a  literary  chap,  and  maybe  you 
know  him." 

"  Bertram  St.  Ives  O'Rourke?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  Yes,  I  know  him.  He  is  in  town  just  now,  at 
206  Washington  Square." 

"  Why,  that  must  be  very  near  here." 

"  It  is,"  replied  O'Rourke,  with  a  strange  light  in 
his  eyes  and  a  huskiness  in  his  voice. 

"  Let  me  see,"  mused  the  other,  "  this  is  the 
Wellington,  number  two  hundred  and  —  Lord,  this 
is  the  place." 

His  dark  face  paled  suddenly. 

"  My  name  is  O'Rourke,"  remarked  the  big  man 
with  the  pipe. 

"  And  mine  is  Ellis,"  said  the  other. 

They  eyed  each  other  squarely  for  several  seconds. 

"  I  have  heard  of  you,"  said  O'Rourke,  in  mod- 
ulated tones.  But  all  the  while  the  blood  was  sing- 
ing in  his  ears,  and  splashing  wisps  of  light  crossed 
his  eyes. 

"  And  I  of  you,"  replied  Ellis,  quietly.  He  had 
not  yet  regained  his  colour.  O'Rourke,  outwardly 
calm,  turned  in  his  chair  and  searched  among  the 
papers  on  the  table.  He  found  a  leather  cigar-case, 
opened  it,  and  extended  it  to  his  visitor. 


252        Hemming,  the  Adventurer 

"  Try  one  of  these.  We  like  them  immensely," 
he  said. 

Now  the  red  surged  into  Ellis's  face,  and  he  hesi- 
tated to  receive  the  cigar. 

"  Don't  you  know  —  how  I  have  treated  you  ?  " 
he  whispered. 

"  Please  try  a  smoke  —  and  then  tell  me  why  you 
came  for  my  address.  The  past  is  done  with.  I  am 
only  afraid  of  the  future  now." 

Ellis  drew  the  long  black  weed  from  the  extended 
case,  and  deliberately  prepared  it  for  smoking. 
When  it  was  burning  to  his  satisfaction,  he  said : 

"  Do  you  know  where  the  Hickses  live?  " 

"  Yes.     Hemming  is  there  to-night." 

"  So  is  Miss  Hudson,"  remarked  Ellis. 

O'Rourke  jumped  from  his  chair,  and  grasped  the 
other  by  both  hands.  Then  he  dashed  into  his  bed- 
room and  shouted  for  Smith.  When  he  was  half- 
dressed  he  remembered  that  he  had  forgotten  to  ask 
any  questions,  or  even  to  be  excused,  while  he 
changed  his  clothes.  He  looked  into  the  sitting- 
room. 

"  Forgive  my  bad  manners,  Mr.  Ellis.  You  see 
I'm  in  rather  a  rush,"  he  said,  gaily. 

"  Oh,  certainly,"  exclaimed  Ellis,  starting  up  from 
a  gloomy  contemplation  of  the  fire.  He  crossed  over 
and  smiled  wanly  at  O'Rourke. 


The  Real  Girl  253 

"  If  you  don't  mind,"  he  said,  "  I  wish  you'd  keep 
quiet  about  my  part  in  —  in  this  affair.  She  would 
despise  me,  you  know  —  and  I  couldn't  stand  that." 

"  But  I  can  tell  her  about  to-night  —  about  your 
kindness,"  suggested  O'Rourke. 

Ellis  shook  his  head  and  smiled  bitterly. 

"  She  may  not  look  at  it  in  so  charitable  a  light 
as  you  do,"  he  replied,  "  so  please  put  it  all  down 
to  chance.  She  does  'not  know  that  I  have  ever 
heard  of  you,  except  from  her." 

O'Rourke  promised,  and,  after  shaking  hands, 
Ellis  left  his  rival  to  complete  his  toilet.  This  he 
did  in  short  order. 

To  return  to  the  drawing-room  across  the  square. 
By  degrees  Hemming  drifted  half  around  the  room, 
and  at  last  found  himself  against  the  wall,  between 
the  door  from  the  hallway  and  the  table  containing 
the  punch-bowl. 

He  was  feeling  a  bit  weary  of  it  all,  and  sought 
refreshment  in  the  bowl.  He  had  almost  decided  to 
go  home,  when  the  door  at  his  elbow  opened,  and  to 
his  surprise  O'Rourke  entered,  resplendent  in  white 
breast,  black  tails,  and  eager  smile.  This  comrade 
tried  and  true  passed  him  without  a  glance  —  worse 
still,  strode  between  his  host  and  hostess  without  a 
sign  of  recognition.  Glass  in  hand,  and  monocle 


254        Hemming,  the  Adventurer 

flashing,  Hemming  wheeled  and  stared  after  him. 
Others  looked  in  the  same  direction.  Valentine  and 
Marion  smiled  sheepishly  at  their  empty,  extended 
hands.  But  the  lady  of  the  gallant,  shapely  shoul- 
ders and  unaffected  laughter  faced  the  late  arrival 
with  the  most  wonderful  expression  in  the  world  on 
her  face.  For  a  moment  she  seemed  to  waver.  Then 
strong  hands  clasped  hers. 

"  Bertram,"  she  sighed. 

"  Dearest  —  am  I  too  late?  " 

"  But  —  oh,  what  do  you  mean  ?  See,  they  are 
all  looking." 

"  I  love  you.  Didn't  I  ever  tell  you  ?  And  I  have 
searched  the  world  for  you." 

"  Hush  —  see,  they  are  all  staring  at  us.  Oh, 
stop,  or  I  shall  certainly  cry." 

She  snatched  her  hands  away  from  his  eager 
grasp. 

"  But  tell  me,"  he  begged,  in  a  whisper,  before 
she  could  turn  away.  For  a  wonderful  second  their 
eyes  read  what  the  years  of  longing  had  set  behind 
the  iris  for  love  to  translate.  Then  she  bowed  her 
face,  and  answered  "  Yes." 

He  did  not  know  if  she  shouted  it,  or  but  mur- 
mured it  beneath  her  breath;  it  rang  through  his 
body  and  spirit  like  the  chiming  of  a  bell. 


The  Real  Girl  255 

"  Drag  me  away,"  he  whispered  to  Hicks.  "  I 
don't  want  to  make  an  ass  of  myself  before  all  these 
people." 

"  You've  done  that  already.  Come  into  my 
study,"  said  Hicks. 

Hemming,  scenting  the  truth,  followed  them. 

"  What  is  the  matter  with  you  ?  "  asked  Hicks. 

"  Don't  you  know  your  friends  ?  Is  that  the  real 
girl?"  asked  Hemming. 

O'Rourke  ignored  the  questions. 

"  Give  me  a  drink  of  something,"  he  said,  and, 
recovering  a  little  of  his  composure,  smote  Hemming 
violently  on  the  back. 

"  Is  it  the  real  girl?  "  repeated  Hemming,  stag- 
gering. 

"  Do  you  think  I'd  make  a  mistake?  "  cried  the 
lover.  He  swallowed  the  brandy  brought  him  by 
Hicks,  and  requested  a  cigarette.  Their  host  sup- 
plied it  from  a  tin  box  on  the  mantelpiece,  all  the 
while  eyeing  O'Rourke  anxiously. 

"  What  on  earth  made  you  act  like  that  ?  "  he 
asked.  "  There'll  be  wigs  on  the  green  when  Marion 
gets  hold  of  you." 

"  Oh,  you  must  forgive  him  this  time,"  laughed 
Hemming.  "  For,  as  far  as  I  can  gather,  he  has 
just  met  the  lady  of  his  heart  after  years  of  sep- 
aration." 


256        Hemming,  the  Adventurer 

"  Do  you  mean  Miss  Hudson  ?  Why,  where  did 
you  ever  meet  her?  "  cried  Hicks. 

"  It's  a  long  story,"  replied  O'Rourke,  "  but  per- 
haps Herbert  will  tell  it  to  you  —  I  can't  spare  the 
time." 

He  threw  the  half -smoked  cigarette  into  the  grate, 
and  left  the  study,  closing  the  door  behind  him. 

Hicks  glanced  uneasily  at  Hemming. 

"  I  hope  O'Rourke  is  not  drunk,"  he  said.  "  An 
out  and  out  city  square  poet,  who  stays  at  home  and 
writes  about  the  rolling  billows,  I  can  understand, 
but  I  never  know  what  chaps  like  you  and  O'Rourke 
are  up  to." 

Hemming  laughed. 

"  Don't  worry  about  O'Rourke,"  he  said. 

Later  in  the  evening  Hemming  found  a  gray- 
haired  gentleman  standing  alone,  lost  in  contempla- 
tion of  a  black  and  white  hunting  picture.  He 
seemed  dazed,  and  ill  at  ease. 

"  Mr.  Hemming,"  he  said,  "  my  name  is  Hudson, 
and  my  daughter  has  just  introduced  me  to  a  Mr. 
O'Rourke.  Have  you  ever  met  him  ?  " 

"  Several  times,"  replied  Hemming. 

"  A  gentleman,  I  suppose  ?  " 

"  Certainly." 

"  A  man  of  property?  " 

"  Inconsiderable," 


The  Real  Girl  257 

"  An  adventurer,  perhaps  ?  " 

"  Just  as  I  am." 

"  But,  my  dear  sir,  your  connections  and  your 
reputation  as  a  writer  places  you  above  suspicion.  I 
had  frequently  heard  of  you  before  the  Pernamba 
episode." 

"  Thank  you,"  said  Hemming,  with  a  crispness 
in  his  voice. 

"  But  this  man  O'Rourke?  "  continued  the  other. 

"  O'Rourke,"  said  Hemming,  "  lacks  neither  per- 
sonal distinction  nor  respectable  family  connections. 
I  have  watched  him  under  the  most  trying  circum- 
stances, and  his  behaviour  has  always  been  above 
criticism.  Also,  he  happens  to  be  my  dearest  friend." 


CHAPTER    II. 

A  NEW  RESTLESSNESS 

"  All  night  long,  in  the  dark  and  wet, 
A  man  goes  riding  by."  ...  R.  L.  s. 

DURING  the  first  few  days  following  O'Rourke's 
sensational  meeting  with  Miss  Hudson,  Hemming 
saw  very  little  of  that  headstrong  young  man,  for 
the  lover  spent  his  afternoons  and  evenings  in  mak- 
ing up  for  lost  time,  and  his  mornings  in  rearing 
Spanish  castles.  At  first  Hemming  took  joy  in  his 
friend's  happiness  —  then  came  envy,  and  bleak  dis- 
gust at  his  own  case.  He  sought  refuge  in  hard 
work,  and  toiled  every  morning  with  a  half-heart 
for  the  subject  in  hand,  and  ears  pricked  up  for 
O'Rourke's  babble  of  joy  and  content.  And  behold, 
at  the  end  of  a  morning's  grind,  twenty  pages  for 
the  fire.  Even  his  novel  came  to  a  standstill.  The 
chapter  of  romance,  which  had  the  joyful  meeting 
of  O'Rourke  and  Miss  Hudson  for  its  inspiration, 
seemed  to  have  no  connection  with  the  rest  of  the 
narrative,  and  no  excuse  for  existence  save  its  own 

258 


A  New  Restlessness  259 

beauty.  He  wondered  if  this  chapter  were  a  story 
in  itself  —  a  breath  of  life's  real  poetry,  too  fine 
and  rare  for  marketing-.  One  night,  alone  in  the 
sitting-room  brooding  above  the  manuscript,  he  tried 
to  rewrite  it  in  verse.  A  new  restlessness  had  him 
by  the  heart,  lifting  him,  one  moment,  to  the  heights 
of  confidence,  only  to  drag  him  down,  the  next,  to 
the  depths  of  uncertainty  and  longing.  Three  lines 
pulsed  up  to  his  brain,  and  he  wrote  them  down. 
Then  he  opened  his  sitting-room  window  and  looked 
out.  The  lights  in  the  square  gleamed  down  on  the 
wet  pavement.  The  black  tree-tops  threshed  in  the 
wind.  A  cab  sped  down  from  Fifth  Avenue,  under 
the  arch.  A  policeman  paused  beneath  him,  and 
yawned  at  the  bright  entrance. 

Hemming  sniffed  the  wind,  and  decided  to  go 
for  a  walk.  He  circled  the  square  three  times. 
Then  he  struck  up  Fifth  Avenue,  with  his  hands  in 
the  pockets  of  his  mackintosh  and  his  stick  under  his 
arm.  The  big  old  houses  on  each  side  of  the  avenue 
wore  an  air  of  kindness  that  was  not  for  him.  Lights 
were  in  the  upper  windows  of  most  of  them.  One 
was  still  awake,  and  carriages  waited  in  a  solemn 
row  at  the  curb.  It  seemed  to  Hemming  that  all 
the  world  but  himself  was  at  peace.  The  coachmen 
and  footmen  waited  contentedly  outside,  while  their 
masters  and  mistresses  laughed  and  danced  within. 


260        Hemming,  the  Adventurer 

What  had  these  people  to  do  with  the  bitterness  of 
the  unattainable?  His  eyes  were  turned  in  upon  his 
own  heart,  and  nothing  seemed  real  but  this  new 
restlessness,  this  nameless  desire  like  a  crying  in  the 
dark.  It  was  not  for  fame,  nor  altogether  for  the 
power  of  expression,  though  that,  at  one  time  or 
another,  will  tear  the  heart  of  every  artist.  It  was 
not  bred  of  any  regret  for  the  past,  nor  inspired  by 
apprehension  for  the  future.  On  the  fly-leaf  of  a 
friend's  book  he  had  once  read  the  words,  "  There 
is  only  the  eternal  now  —  an  oasis  of  fleeting  ac- 
tuality between  two  deserts  of  mirage."  Now  he 
remembered  the  words  as  he  strolled  up  Fifth  Ave- 
nue. The  Eternal  Now !  Could  it  give  him  no  more 
solace  than  this?  For  him  would  it  be  always  this 
empty  room,  from  the  windows  of  which  he  might 
look  backward  upon  one  mirage  and  forward  to 
another?  He  felt  in  his  pockets  for  something  to 
smoke.  They  were  empty,  so  he  decided  to  keep 
on  until  he  could  find  a  tobacconist's  establishment. 
Deep  in  thought,  buffeted  and  yet  soothed  by  the 
bleak  wind,  he  strode  along,  with  little  heed  to  his 
course.  Presently,  upon  glancing  up,  he  found  him- 
self on  a  side  street,  before  the  area  railings  of  a 
basement  restaurant  that  he  knew  well.  Here  he 
could  get  a  Porto  Rican  cigar  to  which  he  was  par- 
ticularly partial,  or  cigarettes  of  pungent  tobacco 


A  New  Restlessness  261 

rolled  in  sweet  brown  paper.  He  opened  the  iron 
gate,  descended  the  steps,  and  rang  the  signal  of  the 
initiated  on  the  bell.  The  Italian  woman  opened  the 
door,  and  smilingly  admitted  him.  In  the  larger  of 
the  two  dining-rooms  only  one  table  was  occupied, 
for  stray  customers  were  not  welcomed  after  the 
regular  dinner  hours.  At  the  table  sat  two  men 
whom  Hemming  knew,  and  one  who  was  a  stranger 
to  him.  They  were  drinking  coffee  and  smoking, 
and  from  a  chafing-dish  in  the  centre  of  the  table 
drifted  an  odour  with  a  tang  to  it. 

Upon  Hemming's  entrance,  Potts,  assistant  editor 
of  a  ten-cent  magazine,  called  to  him  to  join  them. 
The  Englishman  did  so,  gladly.  Akerly,  the  illus- 
trator, he  knew,  and  he  was  introduced  to  the  third, 
a  thick-shouldered,  blond-haired  youth,  by  name 
Tarmont.  Tarmont  also  proved  to  be  an  artist.  He 
was  a  Canadian  by  birth,  and  had  just  arrived  in 
New  York  from  a  two  years'  visit  in  England. 

"  I  was  staying  in  Norfolk  awhile,"  he  said,  "  with 
some  cousins,  and  I  met  a  friend  of  yours."  He 
looked  intently  at  Hemming  as  he  spoke,  and  Hem- 
ming started  eagerly  in  his  chair.  But  in  a  moment 
he  sat  quiet  again. 

"  More  than  one,  for  that  matter,"  continued  Tar- 
mont. "  There  was  Major  Anderson,  —  he  talked 
a  great  deal  of  you  one  night,  after  some  one  had 


262         Hemming,  the  Adventurer 

mentioned  wars,  and  that  sort  of  thing,  —  and  there 
was  an  old  chap  who  argued  about  you  with  an 
old  dame,  the  same  evening.  Really,  your  memory 
seemed  to  bulk  large  in  their  eyes."  He  paused, 
and  smiled  at  his  companions.  "  Oh,  I  forgot,"  he 
added ;  "  there  was  a  lady  —  very  pretty,  too  —  who 
stopped  playing  ping-pong  with  me  to  listen  to  what 
they  were  saying  about  Captain  Hemming.  Of 
course  she  didn't  give  that  for  a  reason." 

"  What  was  her  name  ?  "  asked  Hemming. 

Tarmont  shook  his  head,  and,  producing  his  cigar- 
ette-case, lit  a  mild,  fat  Turkish. 

"  I'm  no  good  at  names,"  he  said,  "  but  she  seemed 
to  be  about  twenty-eight  in  age,  and  was  beau- 
tifully set  up,  a  trifle  on  the  thin  side  —  and 
had  ripping  fine  eyes,  and  hair  with  copper  in  it." 

Even  Hemming  laughed. 

"  You  must  have  spent  all  your  precious  time 
staring  at  her,"  remarked  Potts. 

"  Well,  I  did,"  confessed  the  artist,  "  for  I  was 
in  love  with  her,  man.  Even  now,  whenever  I 
draw  a  girl  I  make  her  waist  and  her  arms.  As 
for  the  look  in  her  eyes  —  my  dear  fellow,  I  can 
never  forget  it." 

"  What  sort  of  a  look  was  it  ?  "  asked  Akerly, 
hugely  amused. 

"  A  look  of  longing,"  replied  Tarmont,  in  tragic 


A  New  Restlessness  263 

tones.  "  It  was  deucedly  disconcerting,  too,  for  the 
man  she  happened  to  be  talking  to.  It  always  made 
me  feel  as  if  I  had  a  hole  in  the  middle  of  my 
chest,  through  which  she  could  see  some  chap  whom 
she  was  anxious  to  embrace.  We  all  noticed  that 
Anderson  didn't  like  it  at  all." 

Potts  and  Akerly  roared  with  laughter. 

"  You  should  be  a  novelist,"  said  Potts. 

Akerly  ordered  a  round-bellied,  wicker-covered 
flask.  But  Hemming  only  pondered  over  what  he 
heard. 

It  was  close  upon  two  o'clock  in  the  morning  when 
Hemming  got  back  to  the  Wellington.  He  found 
O'Rourke  snug  in  his  bed,  smiling  even  in  his  sleep. 
He  closed  the  bedroom  doors  softly,  stirred  up  the 
fire,  and  sat  down  to  his  story.  Still  the  wind  gal- 
loped through  the  square,  slashing  the  tree-tops,  and 
riding  against  the  house-fronts. 

It  was  dawn  when  Hemming  laid  aside  his  pen, 
knocked  the  smouldering  heel  from  his  pipe,  and 
went  wearily  to  bed. 


CHAPTER   III. 

A   ROLLING   STONE 

THE  life  of  New  York  did  not  suit  Hemming, 
although  his  work  progressed  at  a  round  pace.  He 
awoke  in  the  mornings  to  no  expectations  of  joy 
or  adventure.  The  dulness  of  each  approaching  day 
weighed  upon  him  even  before  his  eyes  opened.  He 
saw  but  little  of  O'Rourke  after  the  luncheon  hour, 
and,  though  he  and  Tarmont  became  quite  friendly, 
loneliness  made  his  days  miserable.  He  began  to 
regret  even  the  foolish,  anxious  days  of  the  Per- 
namba  revolution.  In  his  blue  mood  he  would  some- 
times call  on  the  Tetsons  and  Hickses  —  but,  alas, 
in  conventional  environment  they  had  lost  much  of 
their  charm.  Hicks  was  growing  fat  and  self-com- 
placent. Marion  was  growing  commonplace  under 
the  burden  of  formalities.  Even  the  old  man  was 
undergoing  a  change  —  had  already  been  weaned 
from  his  yellow  cigar  and  taught  to  wear  a  four- 
in-hand  necktie  until  dinner-time.  As  for  Mrs. 
Tetson,  kindly  soul,  why,  she  now  spent  most  of 


A  Rolling  Stone  265 

her  days  in  contented  slumber,  and  sometimes  drove 
in  the  park  of  an  afternoon. 

Hemming  sometimes  went  to  dinner  at  the  Hud- 
sons'  with  O'Rourke.  Mrs.  Hudson  was  dead,  and 
Helen  and  her  father  made  up  the  family.  Hem- 
ming found  these  evenings  quite  worth  while.  Miss 
Hudson  was  as  clever  as  she  was  charming,  and 
as  sympathetic  as  she  was  original.  Mr.  Hudson 
was  a  kind-hearted,  exceedingly  well-bred  banker, 
with  a  cultivated  taste  in  wines  and  cigars.  Under 
his  daughter's  leadership  he  sometimes  talked  bril- 
liantly. After  these  dinners  Hemming  would  always 
stay  as  long  as  he  could  without  feeling  himself  in 
the  way ;  then,  after  a  word  or  two  with  Mr.  Hud- 
son in  the  library,  he  would  return  to  the  lonely 
sitting-room  and  write  letters  to  Miss  Travers. 
These  he  burned  as  soon  as  written.  This  was  fool- 
ishness, and  worried  Smith  a  good  deal. 

Tarmont,  who  guessed  Hemming's  case,  got  into 
the  habit  of  dropping  in  on  his  new  friend  at  un- 
seemly hours.  If  Hemming  wanted  to  talk,  Tar- 
mont was  ready  to  listen.  If  Hemming  wanted  to 
listen,  Tarmont  was  glad  to  chat  about  his  stay  in 
England.  If  Hemming  wanted  to  continue  his  work, 
Tarmont  was  delighted  to  smoke  in  silence,  —  al- 
ways those  fat  Eastern  cigarettes,  —  with  his  heels 
on  any  convenient  piece  of  furniture  that  happened 


266         Hemming,  the  Adventurer 

to  be  higher  than  his  head.  One  night  he  brought 
a  chap  named  Stanley  along  with  him.  On  this 
occasion  his  visit  was  timed  many  hours  earlier  than 
usual  —  in  fact,  Hemming  was  only  half-way 
through  his  first  cigarette  since  dinner.  Stanley 
interested  Hemming  from  the  first  —  all  the  more  so 
because  Tarmont  whispered,  while  Stanley  was  ex- 
amining a  shelf  of  books,  that  he  would  not  stand 
for  his  companion's  behaviour,  or  anything  else,  as 
he  had  met  him  for  the  first  time  only  that  morning. 
Stanley  looked  and  sounded  like  a  man  without 
a  care  in  the  world,  though  in  his  black  hair  shone 
threads  of  silver.  His  manner  was  of  complete 
good-humour,  despite  the  suggestion  of  heartless 
deviltry  in  his  dark  eyes.  His  complexion  was  of 
a  swarthy  clearness,  like  a  Spaniard's,  and  in  the 
cleft  of  his  massive  chin  gleamed  a  small  triangular 
scar.  Something  about  him  suggested  to  Hemming 
a  gull  blown  inland.  He  talked  of  a  dozen  things 
dear  to  Hemming's  heart,  —  of  salmon  fishing  in 
Labrador,  of  the  sea's  moods,  of  London,  of  polo, 
and  of  current  literature,  —  treating  each  from  the 
view-point  of  an  outsider.  The  others  were  con- 
tented to  sit  quiet  and  listen.  Many  of  his  adven- 
tures by  land  and  sea  would  have  been  laughed  at 
by  ordinary  stay-at-homes,  or  even  by  Cook's  tour- 
ists, but  Hemming's  knowledge  of  such  things 


A  Rolling  Stone  267 

enabled  him  to  see  probabilities  where  Tarmont  sus- 
pected lies.  He  was  still  spinning  yarns  when 
O'Rourke  came  in. 

Several  days  passed  before  Hemming  again  saw 
Stanley  —  restless,  painful  days  for  Hemming,  for 
Stanley's  stories  had  reawakened  all  that  was  va- 
grant in  his  blood;  the  other  side  of  his  heart  was 
longing  for  England,  and  pride  and  self-ordained 
duty  held  him  in  New  York.  Also,  the  condition 
of  his  dearest  friend  was  getting  on  his  nerves.  To 
see  the  man  who  had  so  often  sworn  that  change 
and  adventure  were  the  breath  of  life  to  him  eyeing 
furniture  with  calculating  glances,  pricing  dinner- 
sets,  and  drawing  plans  of  cottages  on  the  margins 
of  otherwise  neglected  manuscripts,  struck  him  as 
verging  on  the  idiotic.  So  he  prowled  about  the 
town,  and  smoked  more  than  Smith  considered  good 
for  him.  Late  one  night,  upon  leaving  an  up-town 
studio,  where  a  pale  youth  made  priceless  posters 
and  delectable  coffee,  he  was  overtaken  by  Stanley. 

"  Where  are  you  off  to?  "  asked  Stanley. 

"  Home,"  replied  Hemming. 

"  Are  you  sleepy  ?  " 

"  No." 

"  Then  I  wish  you'd  let  me  come  along.  I  want 
to  talk." 

Hemming  assured  him  that  he  would  be  delighted 


268         Hemming,  the  Adventurer 

to  listen,  and,  hailing  a  belated  cab,  they  drove  to 
Washington  Square.  O'Rourke  and  Smith  were 
both  asleep.  Hemming  closed  their  doors,  and  lit  a 
couple  of  candles  to  help  the  firelight  make  shadows 
up  the  walls.  Then  Stanley  told  something  of  his 
story.  In  his  youth  he  had  inherited  a  small  for- 
tune. At  first  he  had  spent  it  foolishly,  but  after 
years  of  knocking  about,  had  learned  how  to  save  it, 
and  even  add  to  it.  The  sea  had  been  his  ambition 
and  delight  ever  since  his  first  days  of  freedom. 
Early  in  his  career  he  had  qualified  as  a  navigator. 
He  told  of  trading-schooners  in  Newfoundland  and 
Labrador,  in  which  he  was  interested ;  of  a  copper- 
mine  somewhere  that  he  had  discovered  himself,  and 
sold  to  an  English  syndicate;  of  a  venture  in  the 
sponge-fishery  off  the  Florida  coast,  and  of  his  ap- 
prenticeship to  pearl-diving.  He  told  of  a  blunt- 
nosed  old  barque  in  which  he  owned  a  one-third 
interest  and  on  which  he  had  sailed  as  master  for 
half  a  dozen  voyages,  doing  a  very  profitable 
smuggling  business  on  the  side.  He  even  con- 
fessed to  an  irregular  career  as  a  journalist  in  Aus- 
tralia. 

"  I  have  always  found  my  profits,"  he  said,  "  and 
managed  to  live  well  enough.  It  is  an  easy  world, 
if  you  have  any  brains  at  all,  but,  for  all  that,  it  is 
horrible.  The  longer  a  man  lives  —  the  oftener  he 


A  Rolling  Stone  269 

saves  himself  from  defeat  —  the  gayer  he  makes  his 
fun  —  then,  when  he  lies  awake  at  night,  the  more 
he  has  to  sweat  and  pray  about." 

Hemming  nodded.  "  They  pile  up,"  he  remarked ; 
then,  fearing  that  gloomy  reflections  might  get 
the  better  of  his  guest's  desire  to  talk,  he  asked 
him  why  he  had  given  up  his  berth  aboard  the 
barque. 

"  Had  important  business  to  look  after  ashore," 
replied  Stanley.  In  bending  over  the  table  to  light 
a  cigarette  at  a  candle,  he  looked  keenly  at  his 
host. 

"  And  there  was  another  reason  —  a  damn  sight 
better  one,"  he  said,  quietly. 

He  sank  back  in  his  chair  and  blew  a  thin  thread 
of  smoke. 

"  We  were  in  Bahia  with  fish,"  he  continued, 
"  and  I  got  foul  of  one  of  the  hands  —  for  the  last 
time.  The  memory  of  his  big  face  makes  me  feel 
ill  to  this  day." 

"  What !  "  exclaimed  Hemming.  "  Do  you  mean 
to  tell  me  you  let  one  of  the  crew  lay  you  away  ?  " 

"  Not  quite,"  laughed  Stanley,  harshly.  He 
touched  the  scar  on  his  chin.  "  That's  what  he  gave 
me  —  with  a  knuckle-duster,"  he  explained,  "  and 
what  I  gave  him  he  took  ashore  to  the  hospital.  His 


270        Hemming,  the  Adventurer 

messmates  were  not  particularly  fond  of  him,  but, 
for  all  that,  I  considered  it  wise  to  live  quietly  ashore 
for  awhile." 

"  You  must  have  handled  him  rather  roughly," 
remarked  the  Englishman. 

"  I  killed  him,"  said  Stanley.  "  I  beat  the  life 
out  of  him  with  my  bare  fists." 

"  You  beast,"  said  Hemming,  his  face  blanched 
with  horror  and  disgust. 

"  Oh,  cheer  up,  old  Sunday-school  teacher,"  re- 
plied Stanley,  good-naturedly.  "  I  had  reason 
enough  for  killing  the  slob.  He  hit  me  first,  for  one 
thing.  Then  there  was  a  girl  in  the  case  —  a  little 
brown  girl,  who  wouldn't  look  at  a  dirty  brute  like 
him,  for  all  that  he  told  to  the  contrary.  He  was 
ship's  bully  until  he  got  aft  to  the  cabin." 

He  emptied  his  glass,  and  looked,  with  an  ex- 
pression of  bored  expectancy,  toward  the  darkest 
corner  of  the  room. 

"  It's  about  time  for  him  now,"  he  said,  "  but 
maybe  you  don't  believe  in  ghosts.  He  favours  me 
with  a  sight  of  his  ugly  mug  almost  every  night. 
Can  you  see  him  there  ?  " 

Hemming  turned  with  a  start,  but  only  black 
shadows  were  in  the  corner.  Stanley  laughed. 

"  What  a  pity,"  he  said,  "  for  I  am  sure  you  would 
be  more  interested  than  I." 


A  Rolling  Stone  271 

Hemming  drew  close  to  the  fire,  and,  when  his 
back  was  turned,  Stanley,  with  a  wary  eye  on  the 
shadows,  grabbed  the  decanter  of  Scotch  and  gulped 
down  a  quantity  of  the  raw  liquor.  In  a  moment 
he  seemed  himself  again.  He  set  the  decanter  softly 
back  upon  the  table,  and,  with  his  hands  in  his 
trousers  pockets,  moved  over  to  the  window  and 
looked  out  at  the  cold  roofs,  level  against  the  dawn, 
and  at  the  lift  of  the  silent  chimneys.  His  jaws 
were  set  hard,  swelling  the  muscles  under  the 
swarthy  skin.  He  feared  a  hand  upon  his  shoulder 
—  the  heavy  touch  of  a  thick,  toil-worn  hand.  He 
awaited,  dreading,  the  rank  breath  of  the  dead  sea- 
man against  his  ear.  Presently  he  turned  his  head, 
and  looked  again  at  the  shadowy  corner.  It  was 
lighter  now.  But  crouched  there  close  to  the  floor, 
as  he  had  crouched  upon  the  hot  deck,  with  red 
hands  knuckle  down,  and  blood  upon  the  ugly,  up- 
turned face,  was  the  bully  of  the  barque.  The  can- 
dles burned  softly,  throwing  their  kindly  radiance 
upon  books  and  pictures.  Hemming  sat  by  the  fire, 
puzzled,  but  at  peace.  Wrenching  his  gaze  from 
the  hideous  apparition  beyond,  Stanley  looked  en- 
viously at  Hemming  —  at  the  clean,  brave  face, 
whereon  hardships  and  adventures  had  hardened  not 
a  line. 

Hemming   fell   asleep   in   his   chair.      When   he 


272         Hemming,  the  Adventurer 

opened  his  eyes,  the  room  was  full  of  sunlight  and 
his  guest  had  gone.  He  could  hear  O'Rourke  splash- 
ing and  singing  in  his  bath,  and  Smith  stood  at  his 
elbow  with  a  cup  of  tea. 


CHAPTER    IV. 


"  THE   DEAR,   DEAR  WITCHERY   OF   SONG 


THE  two  friends  sat  late  over  their  breakfast. 

"  If  anything  happens  to  me  before  night,  will 
you  see  that  I  am  decently  buried?  "  said  O'Rourke. 

"  I  don't  see  what  more  is  to  happen  to  you  — 
except  bankruptcy,"  retorted  Hemming. 

"  Oh,  I  intend  getting  down  to  work  again  right 
away,"  O'Rourke  hastened  to  say.  "  That  is  part 
of  my  trouble,"  he  added.  "  You  know  that  Mr. 
Hudson,  for  all  his  good  points,  has  some  jolly  queer 
notions  in  his  head.  He  had  not  known  me  more 
than  a  week  before  he  asked  me  to  let  scribbling 
alone  and  give  business  a  chance.  I  told  him  that 
scribbling  was  good  enough  for  me.  He  said  prose 
was  bad,  but  to  see  a  bushy  chap,  six  feet  high, 
writing  poetry,  simply  made  him  sick.  I  was  mad, 
but  —  well,  I  was  also  afraid.  I  know  him  better 
now.  He  made  me  promise  not  to  mention  the  con- 
versation to  Helen,  and  tried  to  fire  my  soul  with 
the  desire  for  banking.  He  even  offered  me  a  job. 

273 


274        Hemming,  the  Adventurer 

Well,  to  oblige  him  I  determined  to  try  to  give  up 
writing,  and  I've  been  struggling  along  now  for 
nearly  three  weeks.  Gad,  I'm  sick  of  it.  Helen 
does  not  know,  of  course,  what  the  matter  is,  and 
thinks  I'm  out  of  condition,  or  that  her  company 
is  not  inspiring;  and  all  the  time  the  finest  things 
are  swinging  about  in  my  head,  and  my  fingers  are 
itching  for  a  good  corky  penholder.  Last  night  I 
realized  that  both  my  money  and  peace  of  mind 
were  leaving  me,  so  I  turned  out  early  this  morning 
and  wrote  seven  verses  to  Helen,  and  sketched  out 
two  stories,  and  an  article  on  the  Jamaica  fruit 
trade,  and  now  I'm  going  to  tell  old  Hudson  that 
he  can  go  —  I  mean  that  I  will  not  consider  his 
proposition  a  moment  longer." 

"  And  what  about  the  lady  ?  "  asked  Hemming. 

"  Who  —  Helen  ?  Oh,  she'll  make  it  warm  for 
her  father  when  she  hears  about  it,  I  can  tell  you," 
answered  O'Rourke. 

While  Hemming  interviewed  Smith  on  household 
topics,  O'Rourke  scribbled  a  quatrain  on  his  cuff,  and 
then  invented  conversation  between  himself  and  Mr. 
Hudson.  This  form  of  amusement  is  exciting  — 
better  even  than  writing  dialogue.  One  cannot  help 
figuring  as  the  hero.  The  best  time  for  it  is  when 
you  are  walking  alone,  late  at  night,  perhaps  in  a 
rainstorm.  The  ideas  swing  along  with  your  stride, 


"  The  Dear,  Dear  Witchery  of  Song  "  275 

and  the  words  patter  with  the  rain.  But  O'Rourke, 
in  his  mood,  found  nine  o'clock  in  the  morning  good 
enough,  and,  by  the  time  Hemming  was  ready  to 
go  out,  had  made  sixteen  different  wrecks  of  poor 
Hudson's  ideas  on  the  subject  of  authorship  as  a 
profession.  His  courage  returned  to  its  normal  ele- 
vation, and  as  they  walked  along  he  entertained 
Hemming  with  his  brave  dreams  of  the  future. 

The  friends  parted  company  at  the  door  of  Hem- 
ming's  publishers;  O'Rourke  took  a  car  for  an  up- 
town resident  quarter.  He  might  have  seen  Mr. 
Hudson  at  his  office,  which  was  on  Broadway,  but 
he  wanted  to  see  Helen  first,  and  assure  himself  of 
her  support. 

Helen  was  pleased,  though  surprised,  at  seeing 
him  so  early.  She  received  him  in  the  morning- 
room,  which  was  delightfully  informal.  He  asked 
her  to  ride  with  him  at  four  o'clock,  and  spoke  as  if 
this  was  his  reason  for  calling.  But  she  thought 
not.  Presently  she  caught  sight  of  the  neat  letter- 
ing on  the  otherwise  spotless  cuff,  and  without  so 
much  as  "  by  your  leave  "  took  hold  of  his  wrist, 
pushed  back  his  coat-sleeve,  and  read  the  quatrain. 

"  My  dear  boy,"  she  said,  "  it  is  fine.  And  I  was 
just  beginning  to  fear  that  this  old  town  had  made 
you  stupid,  or  —  or  that  my  companionship  makes 


276         Hemming,  the  Adventurer 

you  dull.  I  wondered  if,  after  all,  I  was  not  inspir- 
ing." 

"You  not  inspiring!"  exclaimed  O'Rourke. 
"  Why,  I  have  had  to  smother  more  inspirations 
during  the  last  few  weeks  than  I  ever  had  before  in 
all  my  life.  There's  more  inspiration  in  one  of  your 
eyelashes  than  in  all  the  hair  on  all  the  heads  of 
all  the  other  people  in  the  world." 

"  Silly,"  she  said. 

O'Rourke  did  not  retort  in  words. 

"  But  why  did  you  smother  the  inspirations,  you 
boy  ?  "  she  asked,  presently. 

"  I  can't  tell  you  now,"  he  replied.  "  But  at  four 
o'clock  I'll  confess  all.  You  want  the  red  mare,  I 
suppose.  I'm  off  now  to  see  your  pater.  Wish 
me  luck,  little  girl." 

Helen  smiled. 

"  I  hope  you  don't  let  all  your  cats  out  of  their 
bags  as  easily  as  that,"  she  said.  "  But  it  will  save 
you  the  trouble  of  making  confession  later.  Yes, 
the  red  mare,  please.  And,  dear  boy,  I'll  have  a 
little  talk  with  father  at  lunch,  and  he  will  never 
make  you  smother  your  dear  inspirations  again. 
There,  that  will  do.  Now  run  away  and  beard  the 
lion.  Really,  you  behave  as  if  you  were  afraid  of 
never  finding  me  again." 

"  Oh,  I've  made  sure  of  you  this  time,"  he  said. 


"  The  Dear,  Dear  Witchery  of  Song  "  277 

Then  he  remembered  the  seven  verses,  and,  pulling 
them  from  his  pocket,  read  them  aloud.  The  fire 
in  the  morning-room  was  wonderfully  cheerful.  The 
clock  clicked  softly,  and  chimed  once  or  twice,  un- 
heeded. They  talked  a  great  deal,  and  made  plans 
for  the  future,  and  O'Rourke  smoked  a  cigarette. 
When  Mr.  Hudson  came  home  to  his  lunch,  he  found 
them  still  engaged  in  conversation  beside  the  morn- 
ing-room fire.  They  looked  guiltily  at  the  clock. 
O'Rourke  bowed  to  Mr.  Hudson,  and  extended  his 
hand. 

"  I  have  decided,  sir,  to  stick  to  scribbling,"  said 
he. 

"  Did  you  ever  think  of  not  sticking  to  it  ?  "  she 
asked.  O'Rourke  gazed  straight  ahead,  and  had 
the  grace  to  blush.  A  truthful  woman  can  always 
—  well,  act  —  with  more  ease  than  a  truthful 
man. 

"  I  am  not  fit  for  anything  else,"  he  said. 

"  Dear  me,  dear  me,"  said  Hudson,  glancing  ner- 
vously at  his  daughter.  "  I  haven't  a  doubt  that 
you  are  right,  Bertram.  A  man  should  be  the  best 
judge  himself  of  what  he  is  good  for." 

"  And  now,"  said  the  lady,  "  you  may  stay  to 
lunch.  But  you  must  hurry  away  right  afterward 
for  the  horses." 


278         Hemming,  the  Adventurer 

So  O'Rourke  remained  to  lunch,  and  was  vastly 
entertaining,  and  Mr.  Hudson  thawed  again,  hav- 
ing decided,  during  the  soup,  to  accept  the  inevi- 
table. 


CHAPTER   V. 

AN  UNCANNY  GUEST 

HEMMING  finished  his  novel  and  took  it  to  his 
publisher.  Then  he  decided  to  go  somewhere,  — 
to  get  out  of  New  York  and  back  to  the  life  that 
meant  something.  He  confided  his  intention  to 
O'Rourke,  and  later  to  Smith. 

"  I  wish  you'd  wait  for  awhile,"  pleaded 
O'Rourke,  "and  then  I'd  go  with  you." 

"  How  long  do  you  want  me  to  wait  ?  "  asked 
Hemming. 

"  Oh,  until  we're  married." 

"  Great  Scott,  man,  surely  you  don't  intend  de- 
serting your  bride  immediately  after  the  marriage 
ceremony !  " 

"Not  much,"  exclaimed  O'Rourke,  "but  she 
could  come,  too." 

Hemming  stared,  for  he  knew  that  many  of  his 
friend's  jokes  required  a  lot  of  looking  at;  and 
Smith,  who  was  tidying  the  table,  hid  his  smile 
in  the  duster. 

"  What  have  you  been  drinking?  "  inquired  Hem- 
279 


280         Hemming,  the  Adventurer 

ming  at  last.  O'Rourke  made  a  movement  as  one 
awaking  from  a  trance.  He  smiled  foolishly. 

"  Forgive  me,"  he  said ;  "  for  a  moment  I  quite 
forgot  what  sort  of  trips  we  used  to  indulge  in. 
Of  course  it  would  never  do  to  take  Helen  on  jaunts 
like  those." 

"  I  wonder  if  you  are  old  enough  to  take  care 
of  a  wife,"  said  his  friend,  severely. 

When  Hemming  returned  to  his  rooms  late  that 
evening,  he  was  still  undecided  as  to  where  he  would 
go.  O'Rourke  was  away  at  some  sort  of  function. 
Hemming  had  been  walking  for  more  than  an  hour, 
aimlessly,  but  at  a  hard  pace.  As  he  dropped 
wearily  into  his  chair,  Smith  entered,  and  handed 
him  a  paper  from  the  table.  It  was  a  note  from 
Stanley,  written  in  red  ink  on  the  back  of  a  laun- 
dry list.  It  ran  as  follows: 

"  Hurry  'round  to  my  diggings  as  soon  as  you 
get  this.  I  want  you  to  meet  my  seafaring  friend, 
who  seems  in  a  mood  to  honour  me  with  a  visit  of 
some  length.  He  is  very  droll,  and  looks  as  if 
he  means  to  stay.  I  send  this  by  our  hall  boy. 

"Merrily  yours, 

"T.  F.  STANLEY." 

He  found  Stanley  alone  in  a  big  and  lavishly  fur- 
nished room.  He  sat  at  a  table,  whereon  stood  two 


An  Uncanny  Guest  281 

glasses,  a  syphon  of  soda-water,  and  a  decanter. 
He  stood  up  upon  Hemming's  entrance.  "  Ah," 
he  said,  "  this  is  good  of  you.  We  had  almost 
given  up  hopes  of  seeing  you  to-night." 

"  I  was  out,"  replied  Hemming,  "  and  just  got 
your  note.  Where  is  your  seafaring  friend  ?  " 

"  Allow  me  to  introduce  you,"  said  Stanley. 
"  Mr.  Kelley,  my  friend,  Mr.  Hemming." 

Hemming  looked  about  him,  open-mouthed,  and, 
though  he  straightened  his  monocle,  he  could  see 
neither  hair  nor  track  of  Mr.  Kelley. 

"  What  is  your  game?  "  he  inquired,  icily. 

"  It  is  as  I  feared,"  said  Stanley,  "  and  I  assure 
you  the  loss  is  yours.  I  alone  may  enjoy  Kelley's 
delightful  society,  it  appears.  His  very  smile,  as  he 
sits  there,  has  a  world  of  humour  in  it.  He  tells 
such  droll  stories,  too,  of  his  adventures  by  land 
and  sea." 

Hemming  caught  him  roughly  by  the  arm. 
"What  damned  nonsense  is  this?"  he  asked. 

Stanley  pulled  himself  away,  and  the  English- 
man, fearless  though  he  was,  felt  daunted  by  the 
strange  light  in  his  host's  eyes. 

"  If  you  don't  like  my  friend,  why,  get  out !  " 
cried  Stanley.  "If  you're  a  snob,  and  won't  drink 
with  a  common  sailor,  and  a  dead  one  at  that,  why, 
just  say  so.  But  I  tell  you,  Hemming,  I  like  him. 


282        Hemming,  the  Adventurer 

I  didn't  when  I  killed  him,  but  I  love  him  now. 
You  should  hear  him  sing." 

For  a  moment  Hemming  stood  undecided.  Then 
he  removed  his  overcoat,  and  drew  a  chair  for 
himself  up  to  the  table. 

"  I  am  very  stupid  to-night,"  he  said,  smiling. 
"  Of  course  I'll  have  a  drink  with  you  and  Kelley. 
Just  a  couple  of  fingers,  old  chap.  Kelley  seems 
a  good  sort.  Do  you  think  he  will  favour  us  with 
a  song?  " 

Stanley  got  another  glass,  and  poured  the  whis- 
key for  his  guest.  His  face  was  haggard,  though 
he  was  clearly  pleased  with  Hemming's  change  of 
manner.  "  Oh,  he  is  a  good  sort,  sure  enough," 
he  said,  "  but  I  don't  believe  you  could  hear  him 
sing.  It  is  all  I  can  do  sometimes.  He  has  a  fine 
voice,  but  he  is  a  bit  handicapped  by  the  cut  in  his 
lip.  Do  you  notice  the  cut  in  his  lip?  I  gave  him 
that  years  ago.  Knocked  four  or  five  teeth  down 
his  neck,  too,  I  guess.  Do  you  know,  Hemming, 
I  was  afraid,  when  you  first  came  in,  that  you 
thought  me  nutty." 

For  a  little  while  Stanley  seemed  sunk  too  deep 
in  meditation  for  utterance.  He  looked  up  pres- 
ently, but  not  at  Hemming. 

"  Kelley,"  he  said,  "  you  can  understand  being 
afraid  of  a  man,  and  there  was  a  time  when  /  was 


An  Uncanny  Guest  283 

afraid  of  a  ghost,  but  what  do  you  think  of  a  man 
who  is  afraid  of  a  woman?"  He  paused  for  a 
moment,  and  seemed  to  receive  an  answer,  for  he 
laughed  and  continued,  "  Just  my  sentiment,  old 
cock.  She  isn't  after  him  with  a  knife,  either. 
She  is  in  love  with  him,  and  once  he  was  in  love 
with  her,  but  now  he's  afraid  to  go  within  miles 
of  her.  He's  in  love  with  her,  too;  at  least,  so 
they  told  Tarmont." 

Hemming  jumped  from  his  chair.  "  Who  the 
devil  are  you  talking  about?  "  he  cried. 

Stanley  glared  blankly  for  a  moment. 

"  Why,  sure  enough ;  I'm  talking  about  you," 
he  said. 

"  See  here,  Stanley,"  exclaimed  the  Englishman, 
earnestly,  "  are  you  drunk,  or  are  you  mad,  or  are 
you  only  making  a  fool  of  yourself,  and  trying 
to  make  one  of  me?  " 

"  I  am  not  drunk,"  replied  the  other,  slowly, 
"  and  why  should  I  try  to  make  a  fool  of  you  ? 
Some  one  has  saved  me  that  trouble.  But  I  may 
be  mad,  old  chap,  though  I  haven't  taken  to  biting 
people  yet." 

Hemming  started,  and  glanced  about  him  un- 
easily. "Well,  I  really  must  go,"  he  said;  "I 
have  some  work  to  do,"  and  he  hurried  away  with- 
out shaking  hands.  He  went  to  the  nearest  drug- 


284        Hemming,  the  Adventurer 

store,  where  he  might  use  the  public  telephone. 
He  was  about  to  ring  up  a  doctor  when  an  amused 
chuckle  at  his  shoulder  arrested  him.  He  turned 
his  head.  There  stood  Stanley,  leering  pleasantly. 

"  Don't  trouble  yourself.  I'm  not  wanting  medi- 
cal advice  just  now,"  said  Stanley.  In  his  confu- 
sion, Hemming  blushed  guiltily,  and  left  the  tele- 
phone, and  the  shop,  without  a  word.  As  he  passed 
into  the  street,  he  heard  Stanley  laughing  with  the 
cashier,  very  likely  explaining  his  action  as  that 
of  a  harmless  idiot. 

Hemming  made  all  speed  to  Washington  Square. 
O'Rourke  had  not  yet  returned,  but  on  a  scrap  of 
paper  among  his  manuscripts  he  found  Tarmont's 
address.  With  the  help  of  a  cab,  he  was  soon  in 
that  gentleman's  studio.  But,  to  his  disgust,  he 
found  that  he  was  not  the  only  visitor.  Half  a 
dozen  men  were  lounging  on  the  wide  divans,  smok- 
ing. Hemming  managed  to  get  Tarmont  away 
from  the  crowd. 

"  Have  you  seen  Stanley  to-day  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  Not  since  last  night.     Why  ?  " 

"  He  is  mad  as  a  hatter.  Thinks  he  is  entertain- 
ing some  dead  sailor  in  his  rooms." 

"  Heavens !  "  exclaimed  the  artist. 

"  He  talked  rather  wildly  about  several  things," 


An  Uncanny  Guest  285 

said  Hemming,  "  and  quoted  you  concerning  a  girl 
in  England  —  and  me." 

"  He  may  have  heard  me  speaking  of  it,"  re- 
turned Tarmont,  defiantly.  "  He  was  here  last 
night." 

"Why  didn't  you  tell  me?"  asked  the  English- 
man. 

"  It  was  just  country-house  gossip,"  replied  the 
artist,  "  and  I  hardly  thought  you  would  thank 
me.  I  imagined  you  were  old  enough  to  know  your 
own  business  best." 

"  It  was  country-house  gossip,  and  now  you  have 
made  studio  gossip  of  it,"  said  Hemming,  tartly. 

"  I  am  very  sorry,"  said  Tarmont,  honestly. 


CHAPTER   VI. 

THE  BACHELOR   UNCLE  TO  THE  RESCUE 

THE  years  since  Hemming's  departure  had 
brought  little  of  joy  to  Molly  Travers.  At  first 
anger  at  herself  had  occupied  her  mind.  Then  had 
come  a  short-lived  anger  toward  Hemming  for  not 
writing  or  returning.  Now  she  looked  at  life  with 
a  calm  heartlessness.  When  she  learned  the  true 
story  of  Penthouse  a  white  fury  entered  into  her, 
and  she  knew  that  there  was  not  a  person  in  the 
world  whom  she  would  now  trust,  —  save  Hem- 
ming, the  man  who  despised  her.  Her  mother  tried 
to  comfort  her;  tried  to  reason  with  her;  tried  to 
soothe  her  with  platitudes  and  eligible  suitors.  For 
her  pains,  the  poor  woman  was  snubbed.  So  were 
the  suitors  —  at  first.  But,  as  the  seasons  wore 
around,  with  no  word  of  love  or  forgiveness  from 
the  man  whose  love  she  had  tramped  on,  Miss  Trav- 
ers decided  to  take  her  revenge  on  the  world.  She 
took  it  daintily,  and  the  world  hardly  knew  what 

286 


The  Bachelor  Uncle  to  the  Rescue   287 

she  was  about.  First,  and  always,  there  was  Ander- 
son. At  first,  love  for  the  girl,  and  loyalty  for  his 
friend,  struggled  hard  within  him.  Love  won 
against  loyalty.  Then  he  found  that  she  did  not 
care.  He  was  of  a  hopeful  disposition,  and  contin- 
ued to  make  a  fool  of  himself  even  to  the  last,  as 
you  shall  see.  There  were  others,  —  a  subaltern, 
a  lawyer,  the  son  of  a  colonial  premier,  and  a  baro- 
net. It  was  always  so  cleverly  done  that  not  one 
of  them  could  lay  the  blame  on  her.  Tarmont,  the 
young  artist,  was  the  first  to  understand.  He  saved 
himself  just  in  time. 

Mrs.  Travers  was  in  despair,  especially  when  the 
baronet  rode  away.  At  last  it  occurred  to  her  that 
still  the  memory  of  Hemming,  the  adventurer,  stood 
between  her  daughter  and  a  comfortable  settlement 
in  life.  Why  any  one  should  prefer  the  memory 
of  a  poor  man  to  the  reality  of  a  rich  one,  she  really 
could  not  see.  She  was  afraid  to  ask  Molly  for  a 
solution  of  the  problem  (having  learned  something 
by  experience),  so  she  wrote  a  note  to  her  brother. 
Mr.  Pollin  came  promptly,  and  gave  ear  to  the  nar- 
ration of  her  troubles  with  polite  concern.  When 
she  had  made  a  piteous  end  of  it,  he  told  her  that 
she  was  fretting  herself  quite  unnecessarily. 

"  I'll  speak  to  Molly,"  he  said,  in  a  reassuring 
voice. 


288         Hemming,  the  Adventurer 

"  But  she  does  not  like  being  spoken  to,"  com- 
plained Mrs.  Travers. 

"  Oh,  she  is  really  a  sensible  girl,  and  I  am  not 
afraid  of  her,"  said  Mr.  Pollin. 

"Had  I  better  call  her  now?"  suggested  the 
lady. 

"  Lord,  no !  "  cried  her  brother.  "  I'll  see  her 
alone,  —  some  other  day." 

One  morning,  Molly  received  a  visit  from  her 
bachelor  uncle,  much  to  her  surprise.  What  little 
she  knew  of  her  uncle  rather  attracted  her.  More 
than  once  she  had  detected  signs  of  thought,  even 
of  intellect,  in  his  conversation.  Also,  she  had 
heard  something  of  his  early  career  and  of  the 
articles  he  had  written.  She  greeted  him  brightly. 
He  held  her  hand,  and  glanced  around  the  depress- 
ing drawing-room. 

"  My  dear,  this  is  no  place  to  talk,"  he  said. 

"  No,  not  to  really  talk,"  she  agreed,  "  but  it 
is  not  often  used  for  that."  Then  she  looked  at 
him  suspiciously.  "  Are  you  going  to  scold  me 
about  something,  uncle?"  she  asked. 

He  laughed,  and  shook  his  head. 

"  Oh,  no.  I  am  not  as  courageous  as  I  look,"  he 
replied. 

She  wondered  if  this  round,  trim,  elderly  gentle- 
man really  imagined  that  he  looked  so. 


The  Bachelor  Uncle  to  the  Rescue   289 

"  I  don't  know  where  else  we  can  go,"  she  said. 
"  Mother  is  in  the  morning-room,  and  the  library 
is  being  cleaned." 

"  If  you  will  come  for  a  walk,"  he  said,  with 
a  winning  hesitancy  in  his  manner. 

Molly  smiled.  "  I'll  come,"  she  answered, 
"  though  I  am  quite  sure  you  have  something  very 
disagreeable  to  say,  otherwise  why  all  this  trouble?  " 

"  My  dear  girl,"  began  Mr.  Pollin,  "  I  do  not 
wonder  at  your  suspicion.  Really,  though,  it  is 
without  grounds.  I  simply  want  to  become  better 
acquainted  with  an  interesting  and  charming  niece 
whom  I  have  hitherto  somewhat  neglected." 

"  Then  it  is  a  matter  of  duty,"  laughed  Molly. 

"  On  your  part,  my  dear,"  replied  her  uncle,  with 
a  gallant  bow. 

"  Then  wait  a  moment,"  she  said,  and  left  the 
room. 

The  moment  lengthened  into  twenty  minutes,  at 
the  end  of  which  time  Miss  Travers  reappeared, 
gowned  for  the  street. 

"  By  gad,  I  don't  blame  the  young  fools !  "  mut- 
tered Mr.  Pollin  to  himself,  as  he  followed  her 
down  the  steps.  At  first  their  conversation  was 
of  trivialities.  It  soon  worked  around  to  books, 
and  Molly  found,  to  her  delight  and  surprise,  that 


290        Hemming,  the  Adventurer 

her  uncle  had  not  altogether  forsaken  his  first  love, 
to  wit,  —  literature. 

"  I  have  cloaked  myself  with  the  reputation  of 
a  gossip,"  he  told  her,  "  to  hide  my  greater  sins 
of  serious  reading  and  amateur  scribbling.  A  lit- 
erary man  must  be  successful  from  the  most  worldly 
point  of  view,  to  be  considered  with  any  leniency 
by  his  friends.  So  I  keep  dark,  and  enjoy  myself 
and  the  respect  of  —  of  the  people  we  know.  When 
I  was  younger,  I  was  not  so  wise." 

"  I  have  heard  about  it,"  returned  Molly,  "  and 
I  always  liked  you  for  it.  But  I  think  you  were 
a  coward  to  give  it  up  just  as  soon  as  you  came 
in  for  money." 

Mr.  Pollin  smiled  somewhat  sadly. 

"  I  was  never  anything  more  than  a  dabbler. 
That  is  my  only  excuse  for  shunning  the  muse  in 
public,"  he  replied.  "  But  here  we  are  at  the  door 
of  my  humble  habitation." 

"  I  have  seen  the  door  before.  It  looks  very 
nice,"  remarked  Molly. 

"  On  the  other  side  of  that  door,"  said  Mr. 
Pollin,  standing  still  and  surveying  the  oak,  "  are 
two  hundred  and  odd  rare  volumes,  and  three  times 
as  many  more  or  less  common  ones,  —  also  some 
easy  chairs,  and  a  man-servant  capable  of  producing 
a  modest  luncheon." 


The  Bachelor  Uncle  to  the  Rescue   291 

"  And  cigarettes  ?  "  asked  Miss  Travers. 

The  gentleman  gave  her  a  look  of  pained  inquiry. 

"  For  you,  my  dear  girl  ?  "  he  queried. 

"  I  have  not  smoked  a  cigarette  for  years,"  she 
replied,  "  but  I  learned  how  —  oh,  long  ago." 

"  I  have  some  excellent  cigarettes,"  rejoined  Mr. 
Pollin,  kindly,  as  he  fitted  his  latch-key  in  the  door. 

Molly  found  that,  for  a  poor  bachelor,  her  uncle 
lived  very  comfortably.  She  really  did  not  see 
how  one  man  and  his  valet  could  use  so  many  rooms. 
The  library  was  a  charming  place,  walled  with 
shelves  of  books,  and  warmed  and  brightened  by 
a  glowing  fire.  The  floor  had  no  carpet,  but  was 
thickly  strewn  with  rugs.  The  chairs  were  of  mod- 
ern pattern  and  wicker  ware,  built  for  comfort 
rather  than  for  looks.  The  big  writing-table  had 
books,  magazines,  and  manuscripts  scattered  over 
it. 

Mr.  Pollin  rang  for  his  man,  who  appeared  on 
the  instant. 

"  My  niece,  Miss  Travers,  will  lunch  with  me," 
he  said. 

"  Very  good,  sir,"  replied  the  man,  and  hesitated 
at  the  door. 

"  Well,  Scanlan  ?  "  inquired  his  master. 

"  General  Davidson,  sir,  —  and  the  lady,  sir,  — 
will  that  be  hall?" 


292         Hemming,  the  Adventurer 

"Good  Lord!"  exclaimed  Mr.  Pollin,  "I'd  for- 
gotten the  general.  You  don't  mind  old  Davidson, 
do  you,  Molly?" 

"  I'm  sure  I  do  not  know.  I  have  never  met 
him,"  replied  Molly. 

"  That  will  be  all,"  said  Mr.  Pollin  to  the  man, 
and,  as  soon  as  the  door  closed,  he  turned  to  Molly 
and  said :  "  Now,  my  dear,  we  have  just  an  hour 
before  that  old  bore  Davidson,  with  his  everlasting 
plans  of  battles,  gets  here,  so  we  had  better  make  the 
most  of  our  time."  He  stirred  the  fire,  and  then 
seated  himself  close  to  his  niece.  He  looked  at  her 
nervously,  and  several  times  opened  his  mouth  as 
if  to  speak,  but  always  seemed  to  think  better  of 
it  before  he  had  made  a  sound. 

"  Why,  what  on  earth  is  the  matter?  "  cried  Miss 
Travers,  staring  with  wide  eyes. 

Mr.  Pollin  braced  himself,  and  swallowed  hard. 
"  My  dear,"  he  said,  "  I  want  to  confess  that  I 
promised  your  mother  that  I  would  speak  to  you 
about  —  about  —  " 

"  About  what,  uncle  ?  "  She  breathed  fast,  and 
her  face  was  anxious. 

"  Dash  it  all,  about  some  silly  rot ! "  cried  the 
old  gentleman,  "  and,  by  gad,  I  don't  intend  to 
mention  it.  You  are  quite  old  enough  to  look  after 
your  own  affairs,  —  of  that  nature,  —  and  you  are 


The  Bachelor  Uncle  to  the  Rescue   293 

much  wiser  than  the  people  who  wish  to  look  after 
them  for  you." 

"  I  know  what  it  is,"  said  Molly,  slowly. 

"  Then  don't  give  it  another  thought,"  said  Mr. 
Pollin.  He  patted  her  hand  gently,  and  sighed  with 
relief.  "  Now  we  can  have  a  cigarette,"  he  said. 
But  his  real  task  was  yet  to  come.  He  wanted  to 
know,  by  her  own  showing,  if  she  still  cared  for 
Hemming.  How  the  devil  was  it  to  be  done,  he 
wondered.  He  looked  at  the  clock,  and  saw  that 
the  general  was  not  due  inside  another  forty  minutes. 
He  looked  at  Molly.  She  leaned  back  in  his  deep- 
est chair,  looking  blissfully  at  home  and  uncom- 
monly pretty.  Her  slight,  rounded  figure  was  turned 
sidewise  between  the  padded  arms  of  the  chair, 
while  her  grave  gaze  explored  the  book-shelves. 
Between  two  fingers  of  her  right  hand  she  held 
a  fat  cigarette,  unlighted. 

"  What  a  lucky  man  an  uncle  is,"  he  murmured. 

She  wrinkled  her  eyes  at  him  for  a  moment,  and 
then  laughed  softly.  "  That  was  very  prettily  said ; 
but  I  would  much  rather  you  read  to  me  —  some- 
thing that  you  are  very  fond  of.  I'll  see  if  I  like 
it.  Perhaps  our  tastes  are  a  good  deal  the  same, 
and,  if  so,  you  will  be  able  to  save  me  a  lot  of  time 
and  temper  by  telling  me  what  to  read." 

"  A  literary  adviser,"  suggested  Mr.  Pollin,  as 


294        Hemming,  the  Adventurer 

he  fumbled  through  a  stack  of  magazines  and  papers 
beside  his  chair. 

"  Surely  you  will  not  find  anything  in  the  maga- 
zines," she  exclaimed. 

In  answer,  he  selected  one  from  the  heap,  and 
opened  it  at  a  marked  page. 

"What  is  it?"  she  asked. 

" '  Pedro,  the  Fisherman,'  is  the  name  of  it," 
he  replied,  and  straightway  began  to  read. 

It  was  a  simple  story  of  a  small,  brown  boy  some- 
where at  the  other  side  of  the  world,  and  yet  the 
beauty,  the  humble  joy,  and  the  humble  pathos, 
made  of  it  a  masterpiece,  —  for  the  seeing  ones. 
Pollin  read  it  well,  with  sympathy  in  his  voice  and 
manner,  but  with  no  extravagance  of  expression. 
When  he  came  to  the  end  (it  was  a  very  short 
story),  he  got  up  hurriedly  and  placed  the  maga- 
zine in  his  niece's  lap. 

"  I  must  see  how  Scanlan  is  getting  along,"  he 
said,  and  left  the  room. 

Molly  sat  very  still,  with  the  magazine  face  down 
upon  her  knee.  Her  eyes,  abrim  with  tears,  saw 
nothing  of  the  glowing  fire  toward  which  they  were 
turned.  There  was  no  need  for  her  to  look,  to  see 
by  whom  the  story  was  written.  Who  but  her  old 
lover  could  touch  her  so  with  the  silent  magic  of 
printed  words?  She  forgot,  for  awhile,  the  unan- 


The  Bachelor  Uncle  to  the  Rescue   295 

swered  letter  and  the  weary  seasons  through  which 
she  had  vainly  waited  for  his  forgiveness.  Now 
she  saw  only  the  exile,  —  the  wanderer,  —  and  her 
heart  bled  for  him.  He  would  be  wiser  than  of 
old,  she  thought,  but  still  gentle  and  still  fearless. 
A  cynic?  —  no,  he  could  never  be  that.  Such  a 
heart,  though  embittered  against  one  woman,  would 
not  turn  against  the  whole  of  God's  world.  She 
had  thrown  aside  the  love  that  now  read  and  trans- 
lated the  sufferings  and  joys  of  outland  camps  and 
cities.  The  very  tenderness  that  enabled  him  to 
understand  the  men  and  women  of  which  he  wrote 
had  once  been  all  for  her. 

The  magazine  slid  to  the  floor,  and  a  loose  page, 
evidently  cut  from  some  other  periodical,  fluttered 
to  one  side.  Molly  sat  up  and  recovered  it.  List- 
lessly she  turned  it  over.  Here  were  verses  by 
Hemming.  Her  tears  blotted  the  lines  as  she  read : 

"When  the  palms  are  black,  and  the  stars  are  low,  and  even 

the  trade-winds  sleep, 
God,  give  my  longing  wings,  to  span  the  valleys  and  hills 

of  the  deep !  " 

And  again,  — 

"The  sailor's  voyage  is  a  thousand  miles,  *bout  ship,  and  a 

thousand  more! 
By  landfall,  pilot,  and  weed-hung  wharf,  —  to  the  lass  at  the 

cabin  door. 


296        Hemming,  the  Adventurer 

"  But  mine !  —  fool  heart,  what  a  voyage  is  this,  storm-beaten 

on  every  sea, 
With  never  the  glow  of  an  open  door  and  a  lamp  on  the  sill 

for  me  ?  " 

When  Mr.  Pollin  returned  to  the  library,  he 
found  his  niece  with  her  face  hidden  in  the  cush- 
ions of  the  chair,  weeping  quietly.  He  had  half- 
expected  something  unusual,  but  the  sight  of  her 
grief  made  him  feel  like  a  fool.  He  picked  up 
the  magazine,  and  replaced  it  neatly  on  the  top  of 
the  pile.  Then  he  noticed  the  clipping  containing 
Hemming's  verses,  damp  and  crumpled,  at  her  feet. 
That's  what  did  it,  he  thought,  and  was  about  to 
recover  it,  too,  when  his  attention  was  diverted  by 
the  sound  of  wheels  at  his  curb. 

"  The  general,"  he  exclaimed. 

Molly  sat  up  quickly,  and  mopped  her  eyes.  "  I 
think  I  must  have  fallen  asleep,"  she  said,  with  her 
face  turned  away  from  her  uncle.  But  he  was  the 
more  confused  of  the  two. 

"  Yes,  my  dear,"  he  said,  "  but  now  you  must 
dry  your  —  I  mean,  wake  up,  for  the  general  is 
at  the  door."  He  went  to  the  window.  With  the 
tail  of  his  eye,  he  saw  Molly  stoop,  quick  as  a  flash, 
pluck  something  from  the  rug  at  her  feet,  and  thrust 
it  into  the  front  of  her  dress.  Next  moment  the 
general  was  announced. 


The  Bachelor  Uncle  to  the  Rescue   297 

The  lunch  was  sent  in  from  the  kitchen  of  a 
famous  restaurant,  and  was  artfully  served  by  Scan- 
Ian.  During  the  first  part  of  the  meal,  the  general 
did  little  but  eat.  He  had  a  surprisingly  healthy 
appetite  for  a  retired  British  soldier  of  his  age  and 
rank.  Later  he  talked,  beginning  with  his  little 
say  concerning  the  War  Office.  That  institution 
suffered  severely. 

"  Bless  my  soul !  what  did  they  need  of  a  com- 
mission to  look  into  the  state  of  affairs?  "  he  fumed. 
"  I  could  have  told  them  about  the  rifles  years  ago. 
Why,  man,  I  lugged  one  of  the  useless  things  to 
Newfoundland  with  me,  and  first  day  on  the  bar- 
rens crawled  to  within  sixty  yards  of  a  stag,  and 
sniped  at  him  steady  as  a  church,  —  with  my  elbow 
on  a  rock,  mind  you.  Off  walked  the  stag,  so  I 
popped  again.  At  that,  he  walked  a  bit  farther, 
and  shook  his  head.  My  half-breed  sniggered. 
'  Damn  you,'  I  said  (there  were  no  ladies  there, 
Miss  Travers;  I  never  swear  before  women  and 
parsons),  'make  me  a  target,  and  I'll  see  what's 
the  matter  with  this  blessed  shootin'-iron.'  Sacobie 
fixed  up  a  target,  and  we  both  blazed  at  it  —  turn 
about  —  all  afternoon.  Every  bullet  went  eighteen 
feet  to  the  left.  Gad,  if  they  had  only  heard  me 
that  day,  they  would  have  guessed  that  something 
was  wrong  with  the  sightin'  of  their  precious  rifles." 


298         Hemming,  the  Adventurer 

Next,  he  held  forth  on  military  matters  in  gen- 
eral, even  down  to  rations  and  uniforms  for  men 
in  the  field.  "  The  matter  with  our  Tommies,"  he 
declared,  "  is  that  the  poor  beggars  haven't  wind 
enough  to  march  with,  tied  about  as  they  are  with 
a  lot  of  idiotic  straps." 

Presently,  much  to  Molly's  surprise,  he  pushed 
his  wine-glasses  to  one  side,  and  asked  for  a  copy 
of  "  Where  Might  Is  Right." 

"  This  chap,  Hemming,  considering  his  lack  of 
age,  knows  a  wonderful  lot  about  it,"  he  said,  when 
he  got  the  book  in  his  hand.  He  fluttered  the  pages, 
and  soon  found  a  passage  that  seemed  to  please  him. 
He  straightway  read  it  aloud,  in  ringing  tones  and 
with  a  grand  air. 

"  I  call  that  inevitable  —  inevitable,"  he  cried, 
glaring  the  while  at  his  host  and  the  lady,  as  if 
looking  for  contradictions. 

"  It  strikes  me  as  remarkably  true,"  agreed  Mr. 
Pollin.  Molly  said  nothing,  but  something  of  the 
inner  glow  of  pride  must  have  shone  in  her  face, 
for  her  uncle  glanced  at  her,  and  smiled  knowingly. 

The  general  left  shortly  after  lunch,  for  he  was 
a  man  of  affairs,  —  mostly  other  people's. 

"  I  must  go  now,"  said  Molly.  "  Mother  will 
be  wondering  what  you  have  done  with  me." 


The  Bachelor  Uncle  to  the  Rescue   299 

Mr.  Pollin  took  both  her  hands  between  his,  and 
pressed  them  warmly. 

"  Do  you  love  Bert  Hemming?  "  he  asked. 

She  turned  her  face  away,  and  did  not  answer. 
But  he  felt  her  hands  tremble  in  his,  and  saw  the 
red  glow  on  neck  and  cheek. 

"  Bring  him  back,"  he  said.  "  If  you  love  him, 
why  ruin  your  own  life  as  well  as  his  ?  " 

"  I  wrote  to  him  —  long  ago  —  and  he  —  he 
took  no  notice,"  whispered  Molly. 

"  And  you  never  wrote  again  ? "  inquired  her 
uncle. 

"  Why  should  I  ?  He  despises  me,  —  or  he 
would  have  answered  that  letter.  I  —  I  dragged 
my  heart  before  him,"  she  sobbed. 

Mr.  Pollin  let  go  her  hands,  and  slipped  one  arm 
around  her  shoulders. 

"  My  dear  little  girl,"  he  replied,  "  letters  have 
been  known  to  go  astray,  —  just  as  conclusions 
have."  He  patted  her  bowed  head  with  his  free 
hand.  "  Why,  once  I  lost  a  letter  with  a  money 
order  in  it,"  he  added,  seriously. 

Molly  brushed  away  her  tears.  "  I  must  go  now," 
she  said,  moving  away  from  him.  She  put  up  her 
hands  to  straighten  her  hair.  Then  a  sudden 
thought  occurred  to  her,  and  she  plucked  Mr.  Pol- 
lin's  sleeve. 


300        Hemming,  the  Adventurer 

"  Uncle,  we  must  both  forget  about  to-day,"  she 
said. 

"  Not  I,"  he  replied.    "  I  am  going  to  write  —  " 

He  stopped  short,  spellbound  by  her  sudden 
change  of  countenance  and  manner.  Her  eyes 
fairly  flamed.  Her  whole  body  trembled. 

"  You  would  not  dare !  "  she  cried.  "  Oh,  you 
.  would  not  dare !  Are  you,  too,  nothing  but  a  busy- 
body?" 

Poor  old  Pollin  gasped. 

"  Good  Lord !  I  meant  it  for  the  best,"  he  ex- 
claimed, weakly,  "  but  just  as  you  say,  my  dear." 

He  took  her  home,  and,  by  the  time  her  door 
was  reached,  her  manner  toward  him  had  again 
warmed. 

"  It  was  a  charming  lunch,"  she  said,  as  they 
shook  hands. 

Mr.  Pollin  sat  at  his  writing-table,  and  dipped 
his  pen  in  the  ink,  only  to  dot  lines  on  his  blotter. 

"  The  girl  was  right,"  he  said ,    "  I  don't  dare." 

He  lit  a  cigarette,  and  for  several  minutes  con- 
templated wreaths  of  smoke,  without  moving.  Sud- 
denly he  leaned  forward,  took  a  fresh  dip  of  ink, 
and  scribbled: 

"  DEAR  BERT  :  —  You  are  a  fool  to  stay  away, 
—  unless,  perhaps,  you  no  longer  care  for  the  girl." 


The  Bachelor  Uncle  to  the  Rescue  301 

Without  adding  his  signature  to  this  offhand 
communication,  he  enclosed  it  in  an  envelope,  and 
addressed  the  same  to  Hemming,  care  of  his  New 
York  publishers. 


CHAPTER   VII. 

HEMMING    RECEIVES    HIS    SAILING    ORDERS    FROM    A 
MASTER   NOT   TO   BE  DENIED 

STANLEY  was  taken  to  a  private  lunatic  asylum, 
and,  for  all  we  know  to  the  contrary,  his  seafaring 
friend  went  along  with  him.  Hemming  and  Tar- 
mont  looked  through  his  papers,  and  found  that 
his  father  was  living  (and  living  well,  too)  in  To- 
ronto, Canada.  He  was  a  judge  of  the  Supreme 
Court,  no  less.  They  wrote  to  this  personage,  stat- 
ing the  crazy  man's  case,  and  in  reply  received  a 
letter  containing  a  request  to  enter  the  patient  at 
a  private  asylum,  and  a  substantial  check.  The 
judge  wrote  that  he  had  not  seen  or  heard  from  his 
son  for  seven  years,  and,  though  he  had  always 
been  willing  to  supply  him  with  money,  had  been 
unable  to  discover  his  address.  He  arrived  in  New 
York  soon  after  his  letter,  —  a  big,  kindly  man  with 
white  hair  and  red  cheeks,  and  a  month  later  took 
his  son  home  with  him.  That  was  the  last  Hem- 
ming saw  or  heard  of  Stanley,  —  of  the  man  to 
whom  he  owed  more  than  he  had  knowledge  of. 

302 


Receives  His  Sailing  Orders       303 

O'Rourke's  affairs  went  along  merrily.  He  wrote 
and  sold  stories  and  poems.  His  name  began  to 
appear  each  month  on  the  cover  of  a  certain  widely 
read  magazine.  Everything  was  in  line  for  an 
early  wedding  and  a  career  of  happiness  "  for  ever 
after." 

One  morning,  while  O'Rourke  was  hard  at  work, 
Hemming,  who  had  gone  out  immediately  after 
breakfast,  returned  to  their  sitting-room  and  laid 
a  red  leather  case  on  his  friend's  manuscript. 
O'Rourke  completed  a  flowing  sentence,  and  then 
straightened  up  and  opened  the  case.  A  very  fine 
brier-root  pipe  was  disclosed  to  his  view. 

"  Where  did  you  steal  this  ?  "  he  inquired. 

"  It  is  a  present  for  you,"  said  Hemming,  drop- 
ping into  a  chair.  O'Rourke  put  down  his  pen, 
and  eyed  his  friend  with  an  air  of  surprise. 

"A  present!"  he  exclaimed.  "Why,  my  dear 
chap,  surely  I've  been  taking  anything  of  yours 
that  I  happened  to  want  long  enough  for  you  to  see 
that  there  is  no  need  of  this  depressing  formality." 

"  But  we've  been  such  chums." 

"  You  haven't  just  found  that  out,  I  hope." 

Hemming  shook  his  head. 

"  I'm  going  away,"  he  explained,  "  and  I  sup- 
pose it  will  be  without  you  this  time." 

"  I  wouldn't  mind  going  to  Staten  Island/'  re- 


304         Hemming,  the  Adventurer 

plied  O'Rourke,  "  but  for  any  farther  than  that 
you  will  have  to  mark  me  out." 

"  I  sail  for  England  to-morrow,"  Hemming  in- 
formed him. 

"  Have  you  been  —  have  you  received  a  letter, 
or  anything  of  that  kind  ?  "  inquired  his  comrade. 

"  No,  but  Stanley  told  me  I  was  a  fool  not  to 
go  back." 

"  Could  have  told  you  that  myself." 

"Then  why  didn't  you?" 

"  Thought  you  knew  it." 

"  I  didn't  know  it,  —  and  I  am  not  sure,  even 
now,"  retorted  Hemming. 

"  Well,  old  man,"  rejoined  O'Rourke,  "  you  know 
her  better  than  I  do,  so  suit  yourself.  But  my 
advice  is  the  same  as  Stanley's." 

He  stared  moodily  at  the  Englishman.  In  fact, 
he  was  already  lonely  for  his  energetic,  steel-true 
roommate.  What  days  and  nights  they  had  seen 
together!  What  adventures  they  had  sped,  knee 
to  knee!  What  vigils  they  had  kept  by  the  camp- 
fires  and  under  the  cabin-lamps!  And  now  a  girl! 
—  but  at  that  thought  his  brow  cleared. 

"  I  think  we  have  both  done  with  the  old  pace," 
he  remarked,  pensively. 

"  I  wonder,"  said  Hemming. 

That  night  about  a  dozen  men  gathered  in  Tar- 


Receives  His  Sailing  Orders       305 

mont's  studio.  Hemming  was  the  guest  of  hon- 
our. The  big  room  was  soon  filled  with  smoke. 
There  were  many  things  to  drink  and  a  few  things 
to  eat.  Songs  were  sung,  and  stories  told.  Hem- 
ming tried  to  make  a  speech,  and  O'Rourke  had 
to  finish  it  for  him.  After  that,  Tarmont  suggested 
leap-frog. 

"Just  wait  until  I  do  my  little  stunt,"  begged 
Potts.  He  tuned  his  banjo,  and,  to  an  accompani- 
ment of  his  own  composing,  sang  the  following 
verses : 

" '  You  may  light  your  lamps  to  cheer  me, 

You  may  tune  your  harps  for  me, 
But  my  heart  is  with  my  shipmates 
Where  the  lights  are  on  the  sea. 

"'You  may  wine  me,  you  may  dine  me, 

You  may  pledge  me  to  the  brim, 
But  my  heart  is  pledging  Charlie, 
And  you  have  no  thought  of  him. 

"'You  may  cheer  me  with  your  friendship, 

As  you  are  gentlemen, 
But  the  friend  I  want  the  hand-grip  of 
Is  not  within  your  ken. 

"'So  keep  your  praise,  and  keep  your  blame, 

And  save  your  good  red  wine, 
For  though  this  town  be  home  for  you, 
It  is  no  home  of  mine. 


306        Hemming,  the  Adventurer 

"'And  when  your  lights  are  brightest, 

Ah,  then,  across  the  glare, 
I  pledge  my  friends  of  yesterday, 
And  love  of  otherwhere.' " 

The  applause  was  loud  and  long.  They  patted 
the  singer  on  the  back,  and  thumped  him  on  the 
chest.  They  gave  him  three  cheers  and  a  drink 
(which  made  more  than  three  drinks).  O'Rourke 
shouted  for  their  attention. 

"  All  Potts  did  was  make  up  the  silly  tune,"  he 
cried.  "  I  wrote  the  verses  —  with  my  little  pen." 

When  Hemming  and  O'Rourke  got  back  to  their 
rooms,  they  found  a  steamer-trunk  and  a  couple 
of  bags  packed  and  strapped,  and  Smith  snug  abed. 
The  time  was  2.30  A.  M.  They  lit  the  fire,  changed 
their  coats,  and  drew  their  chairs  to  the  hearth. 
O'Rourke  placed  a  decanter  and  glasses  on  the 
corner  of  the  table.  They  talked  a  little  in  mur- 
mured, disjointed  sentences.  Each  followed  his 
own  thoughts  as  they  harked  back  to  the  past  and 
worked  into  the  future.  They  sipped  their  Scotch 
and  soda,  with  meditative  eyes  on  the  fire. 
O'Rourke  sighed.  "  Thank  God,  Helen  likes  New 
York  no  better  than  I  do,"  he  said. 

Hemming  looked  up  and  nodded. 

"  My  boy,"  he  said,  gravely,  "  if  I  ever  find  you 
and  Helen  blinking  out  such  a  stupid  existence  as 


Receives  His  Sailing  Orders       307 

the  thing  some  of  our  friends  call  life,  I'll  drop  you 
both." 

"  No  danger  of  that,"  laughed  O'Rourke,  happily. 

"  Remember  the  Hickses,"  warned  Hemming. 

For  long  after  O'Rourke  had  turned  in,  Hem- 
ming continued  his  musings  by  the  sinking  fire. 
Just  as  the  dawn  gleamed  blue  between  the  curtains, 
he  lit  a  candle,  and  unrolled  the  final  proof-sheets 
of  his  novel.  By  the  time  these  were  corrected  to 
his  satisfaction,  the  room  was  flooded  with  sun- 
shine, and  Smith  was  astir. 


CHAPTER    VIII. 

HEMMING   WOULD   PUT    HIS   DREAMS   TO   THE   PROOF 

ON  arriving  in  London,  Hemming-  went  straight 
to  the  Portland  Hotel.  As  soon  as  Smith  had 
unpacked  enough  of  his  things  to  allow  him  to 
dress,  he  chartered  a  cab  and  hastened  toward  his 
old  haunts.  It  was  close  upon  seven  o'clock;  the 
night  falling  black  with  an  upper  fog,  and  the 
streets  alive  with  the  red  and  white  lights  on  either 
hand,  and  the  golden  eyes  of  the  hansoms.  At  his 
old  club  in  Piccadilly  he  loitered  for  awhile  on  the 
lookout  for  familiar  faces,  and  wondering  where 
he  could  find  Anderson.  His  courage,  which  had 
often  failed  altogether  during  the  voyage  —  espe- 
cially in  the  early  mornings  —  was  now  at  its 
height.  In  this  brave  mood  he  felt  quite  sure  that 
all  those  lonely  years  had  been  nothing  but  a  fright- 
ful, foolish  mistake.  He  wanted  to  talk  it  over 
with  Anderson.  His  old  friend  would  give  him 
some  tips  as  to  how  the  land  lay,  and  what  obstacles 
to  look  out  for.  From  a  waiter,  he  learned  that 

308 


Would  Put  His  Dreams  to  the  Prcof  309 

Major  Anderson  was  then  in  town,  and  frequented 
this  club,  so,  leaving  a  note  for  him,  he  went  on 
foot  to  Piccadilly  Circus.  At  the  Trocadero,  he 
found  a  quiet  table,  and  ordered  a  quiet  dinner. 
As  he  waited,  he  watched  the  people  in  the  place 
with  happy  interest.  They  came,  as  he  had  so 
often  seen  them  come  there  before,  these  men  and 
women  in  evening  dress,  laughing  and  whispering, 
but  now  talking  of  a  hundred  things  to  which  he 
was  a  stranger.  The  waiters  slid  about  grave  and 
attentive  as  of  old.  The  women  pulled  at  their 
gloves,  and  glanced  about  them,  and  more  than 
once  Hemming  bore,  undisturbed,  the  scrutiny  of 
fair  and  questioning  eyes.  But  throughout  the  din- 
ner, he  had  some  difficulty  in  curbing  his  impatience. 
He  was  keen  to  put  this  dream  of  his  to  the  test; 
and  yet,  with  the  thought  of  going  to  her  and  look- 
ing into  her  eyes  for  what  his  heart  so  valiantly 
promised  him,  came  always  the  memory  of  that  last 
parting.  Her  injustice  had  burned  deep,  but  still 
more  painful  was  the  recollection  of  her  brief  show 
of  relenting,  —  for  then  he  had  turned  away. 

Still  in  a  brown  study,  he  sipped  his  coffee  and 
inhaled  his  cigarette.  Visions  from  the  days  of  his 
old  happiness  came  to  him,  and  his  hand  trembled 
as  it  never  had  in  anger  or  fatigue.  He  built  dreams 
of  the  wonderful  meeting.  Would  her  eyes  lighten 


310        Hemming,  the  Adventurer 

as  Helen  Hudson's  had  when  O'Rourke  returned 
from  his  exile? 

Some  one  touched  his  elbow.  He  started  up, 
and  beheld  Anderson. 

Though  the  major  said  the  usual  things,  and 
shook  hands  with  extreme  cordiality,  Hemming 
noticed  a  tinge  of  reserve  in  the  greeting. 

"  This  is  a  surprise,"  stammered  Anderson,  ex- 
amining the  tip  of  his  cigar  with  an  exhibition  of 
interest  that  seemed  to  the  other  quite  uncalled  for. 

"  You  don't  think  it  is  loaded,  do  you?  "  inquired 
Hemming,  smiling  patiently. 

"Loaded!"  exclaimed  the  major,  with  a  start; 
"  oh,  —  the  cigar.  Ha,  ha." 

Hemming's  smile  became  strangely  fixed,  as  he 
surveyed  his  friend  across  the  little  table.  Could 
this  be  the  same  old  Anderson,  he  mused;  and,  if 
so,  why  so  confoundedly  chesty  ?  Could  it  be  that  a 
staff  appointment  had  come  his  way?  He  gave 
up  the  riddle,  and  related  some  of  his  adventures 
in  Pernamba,  and  told  of  the  end  of  Penthouse's 
misguided  career. 

"  I  saw  something  about  the  revolution  and 
your  heroism  in  the  New  York  papers,"  said  Ander- 
son, "  but  there  was  no  mention  of  Penthouse." 

"  He  called  himself  Cuddlehead  at  that  time,  — 
and  really  it  was  hardly  worth  while  enlightening 


Would  Put  His  Dreams  to  the  Proof  311 

the  press  on  that  point,"  replied  Hemming.  "  He 
was  related  to  Mrs.  Travers,"  he  added. 

The  major  moved  uneasily  in  his  chair. 

"  By  the  way,"  continued  Hemming,  with  a  poor 
attempt  at  a  casual  air,  "  how  are  Mrs.  Travers  and 
Molly?" 

"  I  believe  they  are  very  well,"  replied  his  friend. 

"  See  here,  Dick,"  cried  the  man  of  adventures, 
with  a  vast  change  of  manner,  "  I  must  show  my 
hand.  Why  should  I  try  to  bluff  you,  anyway? 
Tell  me,  old  chap,  do  you  think  I  have  half  a 
chance  ?  " 

The  colour  faded  from  the  major's  ruddy  cheeks, 
and  he  looked  forlorn  and  pathetic,  despite  his 
swagger  and  size. 

"  Half  a  chance,"  he  repeated,  vaguely,  —  "  half 
a  chance  at  what  ?  " 

"  You  used  to  know  well  enough,"  cried  the 
other.  "  Damn  it,  are  my  affairs  so  soon  forgot- 
ten?" 

"  I  thought  you  had  forgotten  them  yourself. 
It  is  a  long  time  since  you  went  away,  you  know," 
replied  Anderson,  scarcely  above  a  whisper.  Drops 
of  sweat  glistened  on  his  face. 

"  A  long  time,  —  yes,  I  know,"  murmured  Hem- 
ming. 


312         Hemming,  the  Adventurer 

Presently  he  said :  "  Dick,  you  have  not  answered 
my  question." 

Anderson  cleared  his  throat,  fingered  his  mous- 
tache, and  glanced  about  uneasily.  But  he  made 
no  reply. 

"  You  don't  think  I  have  any  chance?  You  think 
she  does  not  care  for  me?  "  questioned  Hemming, 
desperately. 

He  reached  over  and  gripped  his  friend's  wrist 
with  painful  vim.  "  Tell  me  the  truth,  Dick,  and 
never  mind  my  feelings,"  he  cried. 

Anderson  withdrew  his  arm  with  a  jerk. 

"  Can't  you  see?  Are  you  such  a  damn  fool!  " 
he  muttered.  "  You  come  along,  after  you  have 
had  your  fun,  and  expect  me  to  produce  the  joyous 
bride,  —  the  blushing  first-love." 

"  What  the  devil  is  the  matter  with  you  ?  "  asked 
Hemming,  aghast. 

"  So  you  imagine  the  world  stands  still  for  you, 
—  Mr.  Commander-in-Chief  ?  You  had  better 
hurry  back  to  your  nigger  troops,  or  they'll  be 
having  another  revolution." 

Hemming  looked  and  listened,  and  could  believe 
neither  his  eyes  nor  his  ears.  Was  this  the  same 
man  who,  once  upon  a  time,  had  been  his  jolly, 
kindly  friend?  The  once  ho.nest  face  now  looked 
violent  and  mean.  The  once  honest  voice  rang  like 


Would  Put  His  Dreams  to  the  Proof  313 

a  jealous  hag's.  Hemming  stared,  and  stared,  in 
pained  astonishment.  Then,  by  some  flutter  of  his 
companion's  eyelids,  understanding  came  to  him. 

"  Dick,"  he  said,  "  Dick,  I  am  sorry." 

By  this  time  Anderson  looked  thoroughly  ashamed 
of  himself.  "  For  God's  sake,  Bert,  get  out  and 
leave  me  alone,"  he  cried,  huskily.  "  I've  been 
drinking  too  much,  you  know." 

Without  another  word,  Hemming  paid  his  bill 
and  left  the  place.  Beyond  the  fact  that  Anderson 
was  in  love  with  Molly,  he  did  not  know  what  to 
make  of  that  honest  soldier's  behaviour.  Perhaps 
Molly  loved  Anderson,  and  Anderson  was  too  loyal 
to  his  old  friend  to  further  his  own  suit?  That 
would  make  the  mildest  man  act  like  a  drunken 
collier. 

Hemming  had  been  striding  along  at  a  brisk 
pace,  but,  when  this  idea  got  hold  of  him,  he  turned 
in  his  tracks  and  went  back  to  the  Trocadero,  eager 
to  tell  his  friend  to  go  ahead  and  win  the  happiness 
in  store  for  him.  But  when  he  reached  the  place, 
one  of  the  waiters  informed  him  that  Major  Ander- 
son had  gone.  He  immediately  returned  to  the 
club.  By  this  time,  he  had  made  up  his  mind  to 
write  to  Miss  Travers,  and  say  good-bye  —  for 
ever.  On  the  club  stationery  he  wrote: 


314        Hemming,  the  Adventurer 

"  DEAR  MOLLY  :  —  My  dreams  have  brought  me 
back  to  England,  and  almost  to  you.  But  I  met  An- 
derson a  little  while  ago,  and  you  will  understand 
why  I  do  not  call  on  you  now.  It  was  foolish  of  me 
to  hope,  —  but  I  am  afraid  I  have  been  a  great  many 
kinds  of  a  fool  during  my  aimless  life.  I  intend 
leaving  town  in  a  day  or  two,  and  returning  to 
one  or  other  of  my  distant  stamping-grounds. 
Please  think  kindly  of  me,  for  '  old  sake's  sake.' 
I  wish  you  all  the  happiness  life  and  love  can  give. 

"As  ever, 

H.  H." 

He  gave  the  letter  to  a  page,  to  be  immediately 
posted,  and  then  sat  down  in  a  deserted  corner  and 
pretended  to  read.  His  thoughts  were  in  a  turmoil, 
and  his  heart  ached  dully.  It  seemed  to  him  that 
fate  was  pressing  him  beyond  human  endurance. 
His  gloomy  meditations  were  interrupted  by  a  genial 
voice  addressing  him  by  his  Christian  name,  and, 
looking  up,  he  found  Mr.  Pollin  at  his  elbow. 

"  You  are  prompt,  my  boy,"  remarked  Mr.  Pollin. 

Hemming  frowned.  What  did  the  old  ass  mean 
by  saying  he  was  prompt,  he  wondered. 

"  I  got  to  town  to-day,"  he  replied,  coldly. 

Pollin  pursed  his  lips  and  wrinkled  his  brow. 
"Let  me  see,  —  ten,  eleven,  twelve, —  why,  that 


Would  Put  His  Dreams  to  the  Proof  315 

is  very  quick  work.    I  mailed  the  note  only  twelve 
days  ago,"  he  said. 

"  What  note?  and  what  are  you  talking  about?  " 
asked  his  bewildered  hearer. 

"  The  note  to  you." 

"  I  did  not  get  any  note." 

"Then  what  the  devil  brought  you  here?" 

"  That  is  my  own  business,  sir,"  retorted  Hem- 
ming, angrily. 

"  Easy,  easy,  Herbert,"  cried  the  old  man. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  sir,  for  speaking  to  you  like 
that,"  replied  Hemming,  "  but  I  am  in  a  nasty  tem- 
per to-night,  and  I  really  can't  make  out  what  you 
are  driving  at." 

"  Granted,  my  dear  boy ;    granted  with  a  heart 
and  a  half,"  exclaimed  Pollin.     "  But  tell  me,"  he 
asked,  "  do  you  mean  to  say  that  my  note,  advising » 
you  to  come  to  London,  never  reached  you  ?  " 

"  That  is  what  I  mean  to  say,"  Hemming  as- 
sured him.  Suddenly  his  face  brightened,  and  he 
leaned  forward.  "  Why  did  you  advise  me  to  come 
to  London  ?  "  he  asked. 

Mr.  Pollin  surveyed  him  critically.  "  We'll  just 
sit  down  and  have  a  drink,"  he  said,  "  and  then 
maybe  I  will  tell  you." 

Hemming's  curiosity  was  sufficiently  excited  to 
prompt  him  to  comply  with  this  suggestion.  He 


316        Hemming,  the  Adventurer 

wondered  what  old  Pollin  could  have  to  say  to 
him,  for  they  had  never  seen  much  of  each  other, 
nor  had  they  been  particularly  friendly.  But  he 
was  Molly's  uncle,  —  there  lay  the  golden  possi- 
bility. He  smothered  the  thought.  More  likely, 
the  communication  would  be  something  about  An- 
derson's prospects.  He  smiled  grimly,  and  swal- 
lowed half  his  whiskey  at  a  gulp. 

Mr.  Pollin  settled  himself  more  comfortably  in 
his  chair.  "  I  like  your  work,"  he  began,  "  and 
have  always  followed  it  carefully.  Your  Turko- 
Grecian  book  strikes  me  as  a  particularly  fine 
achievement.  What  little  of  your  fiction  and  verse 
I  manage  to  hunt  out  in  the  magazines  appeals  to 
me  in  more  ways  than  one.  It  is  good  work.  But 
even  better  than  that,  I  like  the  good  heart  I  see 
behind  it.  When,  a  few  days  ago,  Mrs.  Travers 
asked  me  to  protest  with  her  daughter  for  refusing 
eligible  suitors,  I  felt  it  my  duty  to  look  into  the 
case,  —  hers  and  yours.  I  did  so,  and  came  to  the 
conclusion  that  she  still  cares  for  you  more  than  for 
any  one  else.  That  is  my  reason  for  writing  you 
to  come  home." 

"  Does  she  know  that  you  have  written  to  me  ?  " 
queried  Hemming,  his  face  and  heart  aglow. 

"  No,  indeed,  but  I'm  afraid  she  may  suspect 


Would  Put  His  Dreams  to  the  Proof  317 

when  she  sees  you,"  replied  Mr.  Pollin,  with  some 
show  of  uneasiness. 

"  And  what  about  Anderson  ?  "  asked  Hemming. 

"  Dick  Anderson  ?  Ah,  he  is  exceedingly  stupid, 
or  he  would  have  given  up  long  ago.  He  never  had 
the  ghost  of  a  chance,"  replied  the  beaming  match- 
maker. 

Hemming  stood  up,  and  grasped  the  other  warmly 
by  both  hands.  "  I  got  along  without  your  letter," 
he  said,  "  but  I  don't  know  what  might  have  hap- 
pened by  now  if  you'd  not  stumbled  over  me  to- 
night. I  saw  Anderson,  you  know,  and  somehow 
got  the  idea  into  my  head  that  I  was  out  of  the 
game." 

"  Out  of  the  game,"  laughed  Pollin.  "  No  fear 
of  that,  my  boy.  Come  over  to  my  diggings,  and 
we'll  have  a  smoke  on  it." 

As  he  led  the  prodigal  from  the  club,  clinging 
affectionately  to  his  arm,  he  warned  him  of  Mrs. 
Travers.  "  Don't  pay  any  attention  to  her,  —  un- 
less she  happens  to  be  polite,"  he  said. 

Late  that  night,  after  Hemming  had  returned 
to  his  hotel,  Mr.  Pollin  sat  up  and  penned  a  note 
to  his  niece. 


CHAPTER    IX. 

TO    PART   NO    MORE 

"  The  eyes  that  wept  for  me,  a  night  ago, 
Are  laughing  now  that  we  shall  part  no  more." 

IT  was  later  than  usual  when  Molly  awoke  that 
morning.  It  seemed  to  her  that  the  room  looked 
brighter  than  it  had  for  a  long  time.  The  pictures 
on  the  walls  shone  with  a  hitherto  unnoticed  glow. 
She  lay  still  for  awhile,  recalling  the  night's  dream, 
piecing  the  fragments  one  by  one.  The  dream 
had  been  altogether  pleasant  and  unusual.  She  had 
been  in  strange  and  delightful  countries,  — 

"  Where  below  another  sky 
Parrot  islands  anchored  lie." 

She  had  seen  the  palms  shake  their  stiff  foliage 
against  the  steady  winds.  She  had  gone  along  a 
white  street,  gleaming  between  deep  verandas,  and 
Hemming  had  walked  beside  her,  talking  of  his 
adventures  and  his  hopes.  She  had  heard  surf- 
music  drifting  in  from  moonlit  reefs,  and  the  tin- 


To  Part  No  More  319 

kling  of  mandolins  out  of  alleys  of  roses.  She  had 
gone  through  a  land  of  sweet  enchantment  with 
her  lover's  hand  in  hers. 

Molly  dressed  slowly,  the  spell  of  her  dreaming 
still  upon  her,  haunting  her  like  a  half -remembered 
voice.  At  the  breakfast-table  she  found  three  let- 
ters beside  her  plate. 

"  You  seem  to  be  a  woman  of  affairs,  my  dear," 
said  Mrs.  Travers,  eyeing  the  letters  greedily  from 
her  end  of  the  table.  The  dame  had  finished  her 
breakfast  some  time  before,  but,  having  examined 
the  three  envelopes  carefully,  curiosity  about  their 
contents  kept  her  in  her  place. 

When  Molly  saw  Hemming's  handwriting,  — 
and  on  the  stationery  of  a  London  club  at  that,  — 
she  leaned  back,  and  for  the  flight  of  a  dozen  heart- 
beats kept  her  eyes  tight  shut,  and  her  hands  clinched 
on  the  arms  of  the  chair. 

"  My  dear,  what  is  the  matter?  "  cried  her  mother, 
in  tones  of  surprised  concern.  She,  too,  had  rec- 
ognized the  writing,  however. 

"  I  felt  dizzy  —  just  for  a  moment,"  answered 
Molly.  Then  she  opened  the  letter.  She  read  it 
again  and  again,  making  nothing  of  it,  save  that 
he  was  in  London,  had  come  there  to  see  her,  and 
was  going  away  again.  Love  of  her  had  brought 
him,  but  why  should  he  go  away  ?  What  had  Major 


320        Hemming,  the  Adventurer 

Anderson  to  do  with  it?  Now  her  heart  pulsed 
joy  through  her  veins,  and  now  fear,  —  and  they 
both  hurt.  Then  came  the  fearful,  humiliating 
question,  —  could  it  be  that  her  uncle  had  sent  for 
him? 

"  What  has  that  shameless  adventurer  written 
to  you?  "  asked  Mrs.  Travers,  purple  with  curiosity, 
and  with  fear  that  the  chances  for  her  daughter 
to  marry  a  fortune  were  ruined. 

"What  shameless  adventurer?"  cried  Molly, 
looking  up  with  flashing  eyes. 

"Herbert  Hemming." 

"  How  do  you  know  the  letter  is  from  Herbert 
Hemming?  " 

"I  —  I  happened  to  notice  the  handwriting." 

"Paul  Pry,"  cried  Molly;  and  with  that  she 
burst  into  tears.  Mrs.  Travers  sailed  from  the 
room,  much  against  her  inclination,  but  her  dignity 
demanded  it  of  her.  Left  to  herself,  Molly  stifled 
the  sobs,  brushed  the  tears  from  her  eyes,  and 
opened  the  other  letters.  Her  uncle's  she  read  with 
wonder  and  delight.  It  ran  thus: 

"  DEAR  NIECE  :  —  Herbert  is  in  town.  I  ran 
across  him  at  the  club.  He  was  in  very  low  spirits, 
suspecting  something  between  you  and  Major  An- 
derson; but  I  soon  cheered  him  up.  Now  is  my 


To  Part  No  More  321 

time  to  confess  that  I  wrote  to  H.  H.  a  few  days 
ago.  Fortunately  he  had  started  for  London  before 
receiving  the  letter  (has  not  seen  it  yet),  so  there 
is  nothing  for  you  to  get  angry  at  a  doting  uncle 
about.  He  tells  me  that  never  a  scratch  of  a  pen 
has  he  received  from  you,  since  the  beginning  of 
your  misunderstanding.  He  means  to  call  on  you 
to-morrow,  at  the  informal  hour  of  ten  in  the  morn- 
ing. His  happiness  is  all  in  your  hands. 

"  Your  loving  Uncle." 

Anderson's  communication,  —  a  hopeless  scrawl, 
in  which  he  said  that  Hemming  was  in  town,  and 
that  he  himself  was  going  to  France  for  a  little 
while  —  only  interested  her  in  that  it  proved  to  be 
a  key  to  her  lover's  message.  Presently  she  glanced 
up  at  the  clock.  "  Within  half  an  hour,"  she  cried, 
softly,  and,  gathering  together  her  papers,  she  left 
the  room. 

Of  course  Hemming  was  twenty  minutes  ahead 
of  time.  Mr.  Pollin  might  have  known  that,  under 
the  circumstances,  a  lover  always  allows  thirty 
minutes  for  a  ten-minute  cab-drive.  Unfortunately, 
Mr.  Pollin,  though  an  estimable  man  in  a  hundred 
ways,  did  not  know  everything  about  a  lover.  He 
had  very  seldom  been  one  himself,  even  of  the  mild- 
est type.  So  when  Hemming,  short  of  breath,  glori- 


322        Hemming,  the  Adventurer 

ous  of  visage,  and  flushing  hot  and  cold,  —  in  fact, 
with  all  the  worst  symptoms  of  a  recruit  going 
into  action,  —  entered  the  long  and  formal  draw- 
ing-room, he  was  received  by  Mrs.  Travers.  This 
was  a  long  way  from  what  Pollin  had  led  him  to 
expect.  He  stood  aghast;  he  got  a  grip  on  him- 
self, and,  bowing  low,  extended  his  hand.  Mrs. 
Travers  ignored  his  hand.  But,  for  all  her  awe- 
inspiring  front,  she,  too,  was  agitated.  She  knew 
that  she  was  about  to  play  a  desperate  game.  Fever 
and  rum  had  made  the  Brazilian  colonel's  game 
seem  feasible.  Conceit,  stupidity,  and  love  of 
money  were  her  excuse  for  making  a  fool  of  her- 
self. 

"  Mr.  Hemming,  I  believe,"  she  said. 

This  was  too  colossal  for  Hemming.  He  could 
not  pass  that,  however  eager  he  might  be  to  get 
this  unexpected  interview  over  with.  He  lifted 
one  hand  close  to  his  face  and  stared  at  it  intently 
for  several  seconds. 

"  Ton  my  word,"  he  said,  "  I  believe  you  are 
right.  May  I  ask  if  you  recognized  me  by  my  eye- 
glass or  my  feet?"  His  smile  was  politely  inquir- 
ing. He  looked  as  if  he  really  wanted  to  know. 

"  You  will  leave  this  house  immediately,"  cried 
the  lady,  as  soon  as  she  could  command  sufficient 


To  Part  No  More  323 

breath.  "  My  daughter  is  very  wise  in  deciding  to 
have  nothing  to  do  with  you." 

This  shot  told,  and  his  manner  changed  to  one 
of  haggard  doubt  and  dread. 

Mrs.  Travers  saw  her  advantage,  and,  knowing 
that  her  time  was  limited,  hastened  to  follow  it  up. 
But  at  that  moment  Molly  tripped  into  the  room. 
At  sound  of  the  light  step  and  whispering  of  skirts 
Hemming  turned  toward  the  door.  The  old  woman 
and  all  her  works  were  forgotten,  for  Molly's  eyes 
proved  the  truth  of  his  dreaming.  But  he  did  not 
approach  her.  She  paused  on  the  threshold,  not 
speaking,  not  smiling,  but  with  the  whole  dear  secret 
in  her  radiant  face.  How  long  was  it  —  seconds  or 
centuries  —  that  her  eyes  looked  into  his  across  the 
furniture  of  that  formal  room?  Presently,  with  a 
little  catch  in  her  breath,  like  a  sob,  she  spoke,  turn- 
ing her  gaze  to  Mrs.  Travers. 

"  Mother,"  she  said,  "  when  I  tell  you  that  I  over- 
heard your  last  remark,  I  think  you  will  understand 
and  forgive  the  anger  and  —  and  disdain  which  I 
feel  toward  you." 

Mrs.  Travers,  suddenly  grown  old  and  ugly, 
moved  toward  the  door.  She  reeled,  and  nearly  fell. 
Hemming  sprang  forward,  caught  her  firmly  and 
gently,  and  helped  her  to  a  couch.  By  this  time  her 
great  face  was  dead-white,  and  her  eyelids  flutter- 


324         Hemming,  the  Adventurer 

ing.  He  tore  open  the  neck  of  her  dress,  and  then 
ran  to  the  dining-room  for  water.  This  he  used 
upon  her  with  a  liberal  hand,  and  soon  she  gasped 
and  opened  her  eyes.  Molly  put  her  arms  around 
her  lover's  neck. 

"  What  a  brute  I  am,"  she  sobbed ;  "  but  —  but 
she  called  you  a  shameless  adventurer  —  and  she  — • 
lied  to  you." 

Mrs.  Travers  completed  her  recovery  as  best  she 
could,  without  further  assistance. 


CHAPTER   X. 

A   NEW   COMMAND 

O'RouRKE  sent  Mr.  Pollin's  letter  back  to  Hem- 
ming, and  Molly  treasured  it,  unopened,  among  her 
dearest  possessions.  Mr.  Pollin  had  several  serious 
talks  with  his  sister,  but  for  all  the  good  that  came 
of  them  he  might  have  saved  his  breath  to  blow 
smoke  with.  That  cantankerous,  silly  old  lady, 
firmly  believing  that  her  daughter  had  treated  her 
unkindly,  refused  to  have  anything  more  to  do  with 
Hemming.  Before  a  few  friends  as  biased  or  stupid 
as  herself  she  posed  as  a  Christian  martyr.  What 
a  pity  there  were  no  pagan  emperors  around,  with 
boiling  oil  and  thumbscrews ! 

One  morning,  about  three  weeks  after  Hemming's 
return,  he  and  Molly  rode  together  in  Hyde  Park. 
Despite  Mrs.  Travers,  and  thanks  to  Mr.  Pollin's 
library  and  another  friend's  saddle-horses,  they 
managed  to  meet  for  several  hours  every  day.  On 
this  occasion,  as  they  walked  their  horses  shoulder 
to  shoulder,  they  seemed  deep  in  some  great  plan. 

325 


326        Hemming,  the  Adventurer 

"  I  think  good  old  Santosa  has  had  his  finger 
in  it,"  said  Hemming.  "  You  see,  he  married  the 
daughter  of  the  secretary  of  war  not  very  long  ago. 
Rio  is  a  beautiful  place,"  he  continued,  "  and  a  gen- 
eral, even  of  the  Brazilian  army,  is  not  a  person  to 
be  lightly  treated.  Remember  that,  dear !  " 

"  It  will  be  simply  glorious,"  cried  Molly.  "  But 
are  you  quite  sure  that  I  have  enough  clothes,  and 
that  there  is  no  immediate  danger  of  a  revolution  ?  " 

"  I  should  think  one  gown  would  be  enough  for 
one  wedding,"  he  replied,  smiling,  "  and  as  for  a 
revolution  —  bah!  Brazil  is  as  safe  as  a  nursery 
these  days." 

"  You  must  promise  me  not  to  give  up  your  writ- 
ing," she  said. 

"  I  could  not  give  it  up  if  I  tried.  I  am  under 
contract  for  two  novels  inside  the  next  two  years," 
he  answered. 

Molly  shook  her  head  at  that.  They  touched  their 
nags  to  a  canter,  and  for  a  little  while  rode  in 
silence. 

"  You  took  your  time  to  find  out,"  called  Molly, 
presently. 

"  I  am  afraid  I  can't  make  it  any  clearer  to  you," 
he  replied. 

Molly  drew  her  horse  toward  his,  and  leaned  for- 
ward in  the  saddle. 


A  New  Command  327 

"  Dearest  boy,"  she  said,  "  I  can't  believe  that 
you  will  ever  forget  how  cruel  I  was  to  you,  though 
I  know  that  you  forgave  me  long  ago." 

"  The  memory  of  it  is  buried  somewhere  in  the 
Pernamba  bush,  with  the  body  of  Penthouse,"  he 
answered,  gently. 

"  But  tell  me,"  she  began,  and  paused. 

"  Anything,"  he  laughed  back. 

"  Did  you  ever  care  for  Marion  Tetson  ?  " 

"  Not  even  in  those  days  —  when  she  was  really 
charming." 

Several  months  later,  at  the  house  of  a  mutual 
friend,  Mrs.  Travers  met  General  Davidson.  The 
general  beamed  upon  her  with  marked  cordiality. 

"  I  am  glad  to  know  that  some  English  people 
appreciate  a  good  thing,"  he  said. 

The  rest  of  the  company  turned  to  see  what  was 
going  on,  and  the  old  lady  stared. 

"  I  am  speaking  of  your  distinguished  son-in-law, 
Herbert  Hemming,"  continued  the  general,  in  a 
dress-parade  voice,  "  and  I  assure  you,  madam,  that 
when  he  took  command  of  the  military  district  of 
Rio  Janeiro,  England  lost  a  valuable  man.  It  is 
a  crying  shame,"  he  added,  glaring  around,  "  that 
the  English  government  had  not  Mrs.  Travers's  dis- 
cernment." 


328        Hemming,  the  Adventurer 

The  dame  mumbled  a  meaningless  reply.  A  curate 
sniggered  behind  his  hand.  Later  Mrs.  Travers  cor- 
nered her  hostess. 

"  Why  didn't  the  ungrateful  girl  tell  me?  "  she 
asked. 

"  Tell  you  what,  my  dear?  " 

"  About  that  Rio  Janeiro  military  district." 

"  You  should  have  read  the  papers,  my  dear,"  re- 
plied her  hostess,  coldly ;  "  then,  perhaps,  you  would 
not  have  made  yourself  so  ridiculous." 


THE   END. 


From 

L.  C.  Page  &  Company's 
Announcement  List 
of  New  Fiction 


The  Call  of  the  South 

BY  ROBERT  LEE  DURHAM.     Cloth  decorative,  with  6  illus- 
trations by  Henry  Roth  .         .         .         .  $1.50 

A  very  strong  novel  dealing  with  the  race  problem  in  this 
country.  The  principal  theme  is  the  danger  to  society  from  the 
increasing  miscegenation  of  the  black  and  white  races,  and  the 
encouragement  it  receives  in  the  social  amenities  extended  to 
negroes  of  distinction  by  persons  prominent  in  politics,  philan- 
thropy and  educational  endeavor;  and  the  author,  a  Southern 
lawyer,  hopes  to  call  the  attention  of  the  whole  country  to  the 
need  of  earnest  work  toward  its  discouragement.  He  has 
written  an  absorbing  drama  of  life  which  appeals  with  apparent 
logic  and  of  which  the  inevitable  denouement  comes  as  a  final 
and  convincing  climax. 

The  author  may  be  criticized  by  those  who  prefer  not  to  face 
the  hour  "  When  Your  Fear  Cometh  As  Desolation  And  Your 
Destruction  Cometh  As  A  Whirlwind;  "  but  his  honesty  of 
purpose  in  the  frank  expression  of  a  danger  so  well  understood 
in  the  South,  which,  however,  many  in  the  North  refuse  to 
recognize,  while  others  have  overlooked  it,  will  be  upheld  by 
the  sober  second  thought  of  the  majority  of  his  readers. 


L.  C.  PAGE  &  COMPANY'S 


The  House  in  the  Water 

BY  CHARLES  G.  D.  ROBERTS,  author  of  "  The  Haunters  of 
the  Silences,"  "Red  Fox,"  "The  Heart  of  the  Ancient 
Wood,"  etc.  With  cover  design,  sixteen  full-page  drawings, 
and  many  minor  decorations  by  Charles  Livingston  Bull. 
Cloth  decorative,  with  decorated  wrapper  .  .  $1.50 

Professor  Roberts's  new  book  of  nature  and  animal  life  is  one 
long  story  in  which  he  tells  of  the  life  of  that  wonderfully  acute 
and  tireless  little  worker,  the  beaver.  "  The  Boy  "  and  Jabe 
the  Woodsman  again  appear,  figuring  in  the  story  even  more 
than  they  did  in  "  Red  Fox;  "  and  the  adventures  of  the  boy 
and  the  beaver  make  most  absorbing  reading  for  young  and 
old. 

The  following  chapter  headings  for  "  The  House  in  the 
Water  "  will  give  an  idea  of  the  fascinating  reading  to  come: 

THE  SOUND  IN  THE  NIGHT     (Beavers  at  Work). 

THE  BATTLE  IN  THE  POND     (Otter  and  Beaver). 

IN  THE  UNDER-WATER  WORLD     (Home  Life  of  the  Beaver). 

NIGHT  WATCHERS     ("  The  Boy  "  and  Jabe  and  a  Lynx  See 

the  Beavers  at  Work). 
DAM  REPAIRING  AND  DAM  BUILDING    (A  "  House-raising  " 

Bee). 

THE  PERIL  OF  THE  TRAPS    (Jabe  Shows  "  The  Boy"). 
WINTER  UNDER  WATER     (Safe  from  All  but  Man). 
THE  SAVING  OF  BOY'S  POND     ("  The  Boy  "   Captures  Two 

Outlaws). 

"  As  a  writer  about  animals,  Mr.  Roberts  occupies  an  enviable 
place.  He  is  the  most  literary,  as  well  as  the  most  imaginative 
and  vivid  of  all  the  nature  writers."  —  Brooklyn  Eagle. 

"  His  animal  stories  are  marvels  of  sympathetic  science  and 
literary  exactness."  —  New  York  World. 

"  Poet  Laureate  of  the  Animal  World,  Professor  Roberts 
displays  the  keenest  powers  of  observation  closely  interwoven 
with  a  fine  imaginative  discretion."  —  Boston  Transcript. 


LIST  OF  NEW  FICTION 


Captain  Love 

THE  HISTORY  OF  A  MOST  ROMANTIC  EVENT  IN  THE  LIFE  OF 
AN  ENGLISH  GENTLEMAN  DURING  THE  REIGN  OF  His  MAJESTY 
GEORGE  THE  FIRST.  CONTAINING  INCIDENTS  OF  COURTSHIP 
AND  DANGER  AS  RELATED  IN  THE  CHRONICLES  OF  THE  PERIOD 
AND  Now  SET  DOWN  IN  PRINT 

BY  THEODORE  ROBERTS,  author  of  "  The  Red  Feathers," 
"  Brothers  of  Peril,"  etc.  Cloth  decorative,  illustrated  by 
Frank  T.  Merrill  .  .  .  .  .  .  $1.50 

A  stirring  romance  with  its  scene  laid  in  the  troublous  times 
in  England  when  so  many  broken  gentlemen  foregathered  with 
the  "  Knights  of  the  Road;  "  when  a  man  might  lose  part  of 
his  purse  to  his  opponent  at  "  White's  "  over  the  dice,  and  the 
next  day  be  relieved  of  the  rest  of  his  money  on  some  lonely 
heath  at  the  point  of  a  pistol  in  the  hand  of  the  self-same  gambler. 

But,  if  the  setting  be  similar  to  other  novels  of  the  period,  the 
story  is  not.  Mr.  Roberts's  work  is  always  original,  his  style  is 
always  graceful,  his  imagination  fine,  his  situations  refreshingly 
novel.  In  his  new  book  he  has  excelled  himself.  It  is  un- 
doubtedly the  best  thing  he  has  done. 


Bahama  Bill 

BY  T.  JENKINS  HAINS,  author  of  "  The  Black  Barque," 
"  The  Voyage  of  the  Arrow,"  etc.  Cloth  decorative,  with 
frontispiece  in  colors  by  H.  R.  Reuterdahl  .  .  $1.50 

The  scene  of  Captain  Hains's  new  sea  story  is  laid  in  the 
region  of  the  Florida  Keys.  His  hero,  the  giant  mate  of  the 
wrecking  sloop,  Sea-Horse,  while  not  one  to  stir  the  emotions 
of  gentle  feminine  readers,  will  arouse  interest  and  admiration 
in  men  who  appreciate  bravery  and  daring. 

His  adventures  while  plying  his  desperate  trade  are  full  of 
the  danger  that  holds  one  at  a  sharp  tension,  and  the  reader 
forgets  to  be  on  the  side  of  law  and  order  in  his  eagerness  to  see 
the  "  wrecker  "  safely  through  his  exciting  escapades. 

Captain  Hains's  descriptions  of  life  at  sea  are  vivid,  absorbingly 
frank  and  remarkably  true.  "  Bahama  Bill  "  ranks  high  as 
a  stirring,  realistic,  unsoftened  and  undiluted  tale  of  the  sea, 
chock  full  of  engrossing  interest, 


L.  C.  PAGE  &  COMPANY'S 


Matthew  Porter 

BY  GAMALIEL  BRADFORD,  JR.,  author  of  "  The  Private  Tutor," 
etc.      With  a  frontispiece  in  colors  by  Griswold  Tyng     $1.50 
When  a  young  man  has  birth  and  character  and  strong  ambi- 
tion it  is  safe  to  predict  for  him  a  brilliant  career;    and,  when 
The  Girl  comes  into  his  life,  a  romance  out  of  the  ordinary. 
Such  a  man  is  Matthew  Porter,  and  the  author  has  drawn  him 
with  fine  power. 

Mr.  Bradford  has  given  us  a  charming  romance  with  an 
unusual  motive.  Effective  glimpses  of  the  social  life  of  Boston 
form  a  contrast  to  the  more  serious  purpose  of  the  story;  but, 
in  "  Matthew  Porter,"  it  is  the  conflict  of  personalities,  the 
development  of  character,  the  human  element  which  grips  the 
attention  and  compels  admiration. 

Anne  of  Green  Gables 

BY  L.  M.  MONTGOMERY.  Cloth  decorative,  illustrated  SI. 50 
Every  one,  young  or  old,  who  reads  the  story  of  "  Anne  of 
Green  Gables,"  will  fall  in  love  with  her,  and  tell  their  friends 
of  her  irresistible  charm.  In  her  creation  of  the  young  heroine 
of  this  delightful  tale  Miss  Montgomery  will  receive  praise  for 
her  fine  sympathy  with  and  delicate  appreciation  of  sensitive 
and  imaginative  girlhood. 

The  story  would  take  rank  for  the  character  of  Anne  alone; 
but  in  the  delineation  of  the  characters  of  the  old  farmer,  and 
his  crabbed,  dried-up  spinster  sister  who  adopt  her,  the  author 
has  shown  an  insight  and  descriptive  power  which  add  much  to 
the  fascination  of  the  book. 

Spinster  Farm 

BY  HELEN  M.  WINSLOW,  author  of  "  Literary  Boston."    Illus- 
trated from  original  photographs       ....      81.50 
Whatever  Miss  Winslow  writes  is  good,  for  she  is  in  accord 
with  the  life  worth  living.     The  Spinster,  her  niece  "  Peggy," 
the    Professor,    and    young   Robert    Graves,  —  not    forgetting 
Hiram,  the  hired  man,  —  are   the  characters  to  whom  we  are 
introduced  on  "  Spinster  Farm."     Most  of  the  incidents  and 
all  of  the  characters  are  real,  as  well  as  the  farm  and  farmhouse, 
unchanged  since  Colonial  days. 

Light-hearted  character  sketches,  and  equally  refreshing  and 
unexpected  happenings  are  woven  together  with  a  thread  of 
happy  romance  of  which  Peggy  of  course  is  the  vivacious  heroine. 
Alluring  descriptions  of  nature  and  country  life  are  given  with 
fascinating  bits  of  biography  of  the  farm  animals  and  household 
pets. 


Selections  from 

L.  C.  Page  and  Company's 

List  of  Fiction 


WORKS  OF 

ROBERT  NEILSON  STEPHENS 

Each,  one  vol.,  library  ismo,  cloth  decorative    .        . 

The  Flight  of  Qeorgiana 

A  ROMANCE  OF  THE  DAYS  OF  THE  YOUNG  PRETENDER.  Illus- 
trated by  H.  C.  Edwards. 

"  A  love-story  in  the  highest  degree,  a  dashing  story,  and  a  re- 
markably well  finished  piece  of  work."  —  Chicago  Record-Herald. 

The  Bright  Face  of  Danger 

Being  an  account  of  some  adventures  of  Henri  de  Launay,  son  of 

the  Sieur  de  la  Tournoire.     Illustrated  by  H.  C.  Edwards. 

"  Mr.   Stephens   has  fairly  outdone    himself.       We  thank  him 

heartily.    The  story  is  nothing  if  not  spirited  and  entertaining, 

rational  and  convincing."  —  Boston  Transcript. 

The  Mystery  of  Murray  Davenport 

(40th  thousand.) 

"This  is  easily  the  best  thing  that  Mr.  Stephens  has  yet  done. 
Those  familiar  with  his  other  novels  can  best  j udge  the  measure  of 
this  praise,  which  is  generous."  —  Buffalo  News. 

Captain  Ravenshaw 

OR,  THE  MAID  OF  CHEAPSIDE.  (52d  thousand.)  A  romance 
of  Elizabethan  London.  Illustrations  by  Howard  Pyle  and  other 
artists. 

Not  since  the  absorbing  adventures  of  D'Artagnan  have  we  had 
anything  so  good  in  the  blended  rein  of  romance  and  comedy. 

The  Continental  Dragoon 

A  ROMANCE  OF  PHILIPSE  MANOR  HOUSE  IN  1778.  (5jd 
thousand.)  Illustrated  by  H.  C.  Edwards. 

A  stirring  romance  of  the  Revolution,  with  its  scene  laid  on 
neutral  territory. 

C 


L.  C.  PAGE   &•    COMPANY'S 


Philip  Winwood 

(70th  thousand.)  A  Sketch  of  the  Domestic  History  of  an 
American  Captain  in  the  War  of  Independence,  embracing  events 
that  occurred  between  and  during  the  years  1763  and  1785  in 
New  York  and  London.  Illustrated  by  E.  W.  D.  Hamilton. 

An  Enemy  to  the  King 

(70th  thousand.)     From  the  "  Recently  Discovered  Memoirs   of 
the  Sieur  de  la  Tournoire."     Illustrated  by  H.  De  M.  Young. 
An   historical  romance  of  the   sixteenth  century,  describing  the 

adventures  of  a  young  French  nobleman  at  the  court  of  Henry  III., 

and  on  the  field  with  Henry  IV. 

The  Road  to  Paris 

A  STORY  OK  ADVENTURE.     (35th  thousand.)     Illustrated  by 

H.  C.  Edwards. 

An  historical  romance  of  the  eighteenth  century,  being  an  account 
of  the  life  of  an  American  gentleman  adventurer  of  Jacobite  an- 
cestry. 

A  Gentleman  Player 

His  ADVENTURES  ON  A  SECRET  MISSION  FOR  QUEEN  ELIZA- 
>  BETH.  (48th  thousand.)  Illustrated  by  Frank  T.  Merrill. 

The  story  of  a  young  gentleman  who  joins  Shakespeare's  com- 
pany of  players,  and  becomes  a  friend  and  protege  of  the  great 
poet. 

Clementina's  Highwayman 

Cloth  decorative,  illustrated $1.50 

Mr.  Stephens  has  put  into  his  new  book,  "  Clementina's  Highway 
man,"  the  finest  qualities  of  plot,  construction,  and  literary  finish. 

The  story  is  laid  in  the  mid-Georgian  period.  It  is  a  dashing, 
sparkling,  vivacious  comedy,  with  a  heroine  as  lovely  and  changeable 
as  an  April  day,  and  a  hero  all  ardor  and  daring. 

The  exquisite  quality  of  Mr.  Stephens's  literary  style  clothes  the 
story  in  a  rich  but  delicate  word-fabric ;  and  never  before  have  his 
setting  and  atmosphere  been  so  perfect. 


LIST  OF  FICTION 


WORKS  OF 

CHARLES  G.  D.  ROBERTS 

Haunters  of  the  Silences 

Cloth,  one  volume,  with  many  drawings  by  Charles  Livingston 
Bull,  four  of  which  are  in  full  color  ....  $2.00 

The  stories  in  Mr.  Roberts's  new  collection  are  the  strongest  and 
best  he  has  ever  written. 

He  has  largely  taken  for  his  subjects  those  animals  rarely  met 
with  in  books,  whose  lives  are  spent  "In  the  Silences,"  where  they 
are  the  supreme  rulers.  Mr.  Roberts  has  written  of  them  sympa- 
thetically, as  always,  but  with  fine  regard  for  the  scientific  truth. 

"  As  a  writer  about  animals,  Mr.  Roberts  occupies  an  enviable 
place.  He  is  the  most  literary,  as  well  as  the  most  imaginative 
and  vivid  of  all  the  nature  writers." —  Brooklyn  Eagle. 

"  His  animal  stories  are  marvels  of  sympathetic  science  and  liter- 
ary exactness." —  New  York  World. 

Red  Fox 

THE  STORY  OF  His  ADVENTUROUS  CAREER  IN  THE  RINGWAAK 
WILDS,  AND  OF  His  FINAL  TRIUMPH  OVER  THE  ENEMIES  OF 
His   KIND.      With   fifty  illustrations,   including  frontispiece  in 
color  and  cover  design  by  Charles  Livingston  Bull. 
Square  quarto,  cloth  decorative $2.00 

"  Infinitely  more  wholesome  reading  than  the  average  tale  of 
sport,  since  it  gives  a  glimpse  of  the  hunt  from  the  point  of  view  of 
the  hunted." —  Boston  Transcript. 

"True  in  substance  but  fascinating  as  fiction.  It  will  interest 
old  and  young,  city-bound  and  free-footed,  those  who  know  animals 
and  those  who  do  not."  —  Chicago  Record-Herald. 

"A  brilliant  chapter  in  natural  history."  —  Philadelphia  North 
American. 


L.  C.  PAGE   <S^    COMPANY'S 


The  Kindred  of  the  Wild 

A  BOOK  OF  ANIMAL  LIFE.  With  fifty-one  full-page  plates  and 
many  decorations  from  drawings  by  Charles  Livingston  Bull. 

Square  quarto,  decorative  cover $2.00 

"  Is  in  many  ways  the  most  brilliant  collection  of  animal  stories 
that  has  appeared ;  well  named  and  well  done."  — John  Burroughs. 

The  Watchers  of  the  Trails 

A  companion  volume  to  "  The  Kindred   of  the   Wild."    With 
forty-eight  full-page  plates  and  many  decorations  from  drawings 
by  Charles  Livingston  Bull. 
Square  quarto,  decorative  cover  ......    $2.00 

"  These  stories  are  exquisite  in  their  refinement,  and  yet  robust 

in  their  appreciation  of  some  of  the  rougher  phases  of  woodcraft. 

Among  the  many  writers  about  animals,  Mr.  Roberts  occupies  an 

enviable  place.  —  The  Outlook. 

"  This  is  a  book  full  of  delight.     An  additional  charm  lies  in  Mr. 

Bull's  faithful  and  graphic  illustrations,  which  in  fashion  all   their 

own  tell  the  story  of  the  wild  life,  illuminating  and  supplementing 

the  pen  pictures  of  the  author." — Literary  Digest. 

The  Heart  That  Knows 

Library  1 2010,  cloth,  decorative  cover         ....    $1.50 
"A  novel  of  singularly  effective  strength,  luminous  in  literary 
color,  rich  in  its  passionate,  yet  tender  drama."  —  New  York  Globe. 

Earth's  Enigmas 

A  new  edition  of  Mr.  Roberts's  first  volume  of  fiction,  published 
in  1892,  and  out  of  print  for  several  years,  with  the  addition  of 
three  new  stories,  and  ten  illustrations  by  Charles  Livingston 
Bull. 

Library  1 2mo,  cloth,  decorative  cover          ....    #1.50 
"  It    will    rank   high    among   collections   of     short   stories.      In 
1  Earth's  Enigmas '  is  a  wider  range  of   subject  than  in  the  '  Kin- 
dred of  the  Wild.' " —  Review  from  advance  sheets  of  the  illustrated 
edition  by  Tiffany  Blake  in  the  Chicago  Evening  Post. 

Barbara  Ladd 

With  four  illustrations  by  Frank  Verbeck. 

Library  i2mo,  cloth,  decorative  cover          ....    $1.50 

"  From  the  opening  chapter  to  the  final  page  Mr.  Roberts  lures 

us  on  by  his  rapt  devotion  to  the  changing  aspects  of  Nature  and 

by  his  keen  and  sympathetic  analysis  of  human  character."  —  Boston 

Transcript. 


LIST  OF  FICTION 


Cameron  of  Lochiel 

Translated  from  the  French  of  Philippe  Aubert  de  Gaspe*,  with 

frontispiece  in  color  by  H.  C.  Edwards. 

Library  12010,  cloth  decorative $1.50 

"  Professor  .Roberts  deserves  the  thanks  of  his  reader  for  giving 
a  wider  audience  an  opportunity  to  enjoy  this  striking  bit  of  French 
Canadian  literature."  —  Brooklyn  Eagle. 

"  It  is  not  often  in  these  days  of  sensational  and  philosophical 
novels  that  one  picks  up  a  book  that  so  touches  the  heart."  — 
Boston  Transcript. 

The  Prisoner  of  Mademoiselle 

With  frontispiece  by  Frank  T.  Merrill. 

Library  I2tno,  cloth  decorative,  gilt  top      .        .        .        .    $1.50 

A  tale  of  Acadia,  — a  land  which  is  the  author's  heart's  delight, 
—  of  a  valiant  young  lieutenant  and  a  winsome  maiden,  who  first 
captures  and  then  captivates. 

"  This  is  the  kind  of  a  story  that  makes  one  grow  younger,  more 
innocent,  more  light-hearted.  Its  literary  quality  is  impeccable. 
It  is  not  every  day  that  such  a  heroine  blossoms  into  even  tempo- 
rary existence,  and  the  very  name  of  the  story  bears  a  breath  of 
charm."  —  Chicago  Record-Herald. 

The  Heart  of  the  Ancient  Wood 

With  six  illustrations  by  James  L.  Weston. 

Library  1 2mo,  decorative  cover       '"'.''.        .        .        .    $1.50 

"  One  of  the  most  fascinating  novels  of  recent  days."  —  Boston 
Journal. 

"A  classic  twentieth-century  romance."  —  New  York  Commercial 
Advertiser. 

The  Forge  in  the  Forest 

Being  the  Narrative  of  the  Acadian  Ranger,  Jean  de  Mer, 
Seigneur  de  Briart,  and  how  he  crossed  the  Black  Abbe,  and  of 
his  adventures  in  a  strange  fellowship.  Illustrated  by  Henry 
Sandham,  R.  C.  A. 

Library  12 mo,  cloth,  gilt  top $i-?o 

A  story  of  pure  love  and  heroic  adventure. 

By  the  Marshes  of  Minas 

Library  1 2mo,  cloth,  gilt  top,  illustrated  ....  $1.50 
Most  of  these  romances  are  in  the  author's  lighter  and  more 

playful  vein;   each  is  a  unit  of  absorbing  interest  and  exquisite 

workmanship. 


L.  C.  PAGE   &    COMPANY'S 


A  Sister  to  Evangeline 

Bei  ig  the  Story  of  Yvonne  de  Lamourie,  and  how  she  went  int 
exile  with  the  villagers  of  Grand  Pre. 

Library  1 2mo,  cloth,  gilt  top,  illustrated     .         .         .         .    fi.i 
Swift  action,  fresh  atmosphere,  wholesome  purity,  deep  passio: 
and  searching  analysis  characterize  this  strong  novel. 


WORKS  OF 

LILIAN  BELL 

Carolina  Lee 

With  a  frontispiece  in  color  from  an  oil  painting  by  Dora  Wheele 
Keith.  Library  1 2mo,  cloth,  decorative  cover  .  .  .  $1.5 
"A  Christian  Science  novel,  full  of  action,  alive  with  incident  an 

brisk  with  pithy  dialogue  and  humor."  —  Boston  Transcript. 

"  A  charming  portrayal  of  the  attractive  life  of  the  South,  refresl 

ing  as  a  breeze  that  blows  through  a  pine  forest."  —  Albany  Time, 

Union. 

Hope  Loring 

Illustrated  by  Frank  T.  Merrill. 

Library  1 2mo,  cloth,  decorative  cover  ....  $1.5 
"  Tall,  slender,  and  athletic,  fragile-looking,  yet  with  nerves  an 
sinews  of  steel  under  the  velvet  flesh,  frank  as  a  boy  and  tender  an 
beautiful  as  a  woman,  free  and  independent,  yet  not  bold  — such  i 
4  Hope  Loring,'  by  long  odds  the  subtlest  study  that  has  yet  bee 
made  of  the  American  girl." — Dorothy  Dix,  in  the  New  Yor 
American. 

Abroad  with  the  Jimmies 

With  a  portrait,  in  duogravure,  of  the  author. 
Library  izmo,  cloth,  decorative  cover          ....    $1.5 
"  Full  of  ozone,  of  snap,  of  ginger,  of  swing  and  momentum."  - 
Chicago  Evening  Post. 

At  Home  with  the  Jardines 

A  companion  volume  to  "  Abroad  with  the  Jimmies." 

Library  1 2mo,  cloth,  decorative  cover $1.5 

"  Bits  of  gay  humor,  sunny,  whimsical  philosophy,  and  keen  ir 
dubitable  insight  into  the  less  evident  aspects  and  workings  of  pur 
human  nature,  with  a  slender  thread  of  a  cleverly  extraneous  lov 
story,  keep  the  interest  of  the  reader  fresh." —  Chicago  Kecorc 
Herald. 


A    000112301 


